


Crimson Memory, Golden Fate

by Kallypso



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged up characters, F/M, Gen, I love slowburn, SLOWBURN AS HELL, Timeline is changed, enjoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-06-15 09:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 37,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15409530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kallypso/pseuds/Kallypso
Summary: Nim's life began at fifteen when she woke with no name and no memory. For three years, she has made a new life for herself, training with a mysterious man named Lantos. But when a "training exercise" lands her in combat with the infamous, Jaime Lannister, Nim the Nameless finds herself thrust into the deadly Game of Thrones and discovers that she may not be as nameless as she seems.This is an AU in which an aged up Arya loses her memory and ends up back amongst the Lannisters with no knowledge of her dark history. Eventual very slow burn pairing with Jaime. I'll sell you on it. Promise.





	1. Lessons from a Thief

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look! Another Game of Thrones fic. And this time we are diving into alternate universe territory. In this fic the War with the North has gone on much longer than in the show. There are other little details that are different such as the ages of some of the characters, but I'll mention those when I get to them.
> 
> As mentioned in the summary there is a slightly weird pairing that's a spoiler to mention now. I promise to sell you on it if you promise to trust me. Enjoy!

She chose the name Nim for herself, because she could not remember the one she was born with. Most people in Westeros had two names. A name for their family and a name for themselves. Family names were all that mattered here. Lannister, Stark, Baratheon. She remembered all the more prominent family names but she could not remember her own. So she was simply Nim. Nim Nobody.

Nim the pastless.

Her life began at fifteen when she awoke to a red sunrise and the face of a man from Bravos. He called himself Lantos, master of long knives. He fed her roast duck and asked her who she was.

" _I don't know."_ she replied.

" _That is no good. Everyone must know who they are."_ He replied in his strange accent. Bravosii, Nim thought, though she wasn't sure how she knew that.

" _I don't," she replied._

He clicked his tongue.  _"Then you must make yourself. A difficult task. But perhaps a rewarding one, if you make yourself right."_

" _How do I make myself?"_

" _First you give yourself a name."_

" _Like what?"_

" _It does not matter. It simply must be a name. An easy name to remember, since your memory is not very good."_

" _That isn't my fault!"_

" _If you cannot remember how you lost your memory, you cannot claim that it was not your fault. Choose your name, pastless girl._

Nim had no meaning. It was more like a sound than a name. But it was short and easy to remember. So she chose Nim.

" _Nim is good."_ Lantos had said.  _"And now, you must build a life."_

Nim gave herself a name, but in a sense, Lantos gave her life. He put two long knives in her hands. They were shorter than swords, slightly curved and thinner. But they were razor sharp and easier to move.

" _A knight uses a single blade, broad but not as versatile. With two blades you can kill two at a time. That means less people to stab you in the back"_

She had some technique with a blade already. Perhaps she had learned some in her old life. But he perfected her. He taught her fluidity of combat. He taught her to make her blades extensions of her arms. He taught her stealth. He taught her patience.

Though the last of these things she was harder pressed to learn.

He did not need to teach her history or family names. Nim remembered all of those. Her knowledge of the world remained though her memories of herself did not. She could speak of Aegon's landing and Robert's Rebellion but she could not say who her mother and father were, or her siblings, if she had any. She could not speak of fond memories or ill ones. She could speak of any memories at all.

She knew only a few things now for certain. She was a sword. She was a traveler.

She was Nim.

And after three years, such simple truths made her content.

* * *

 

Nim crouched behind a rocky outcrop, observing a small camp of soldiers, recently settled down for the night. The sun was just beginning to dip in the sky, but the men had decided to rest while they were still nearby a village, so that they could go into town to visit the tavern whores. In the thick of war, soldiers past often through this village and the whores were never short of coin because of it. If Nim had been found by a different man, perhaps she might have become a whore.

She tended to doubt it. She didn't have a memory but she still had pride and it burned bright against such degradations.

Blood red flags flapped above the scattered tents and each one bore a golden lion. Lannister men. She saw many of them these days, now that their war with the North was over. Villagers whispered amongst themselves about the death of Robb Stark, the once Lord of Winterfell and self-proclaimed king of the North. Killed by Walder Frey, they said. At a wedding no less. A tragedy for the North but a victory for the Lannister armies. Now many of them could return home.

Lannister men were the very best to steal from, especially the officers. Their purses often hung fat with coin and their wits were dulled by strong drink. Victory in war made them stupid in the streets.

Nim sometimes stole as a necessity, but also as a training exercise. Lantos always preached the values of a thief to her during her training and often sent her out to the streets.

" _Steal me a silver without getting caught, pastless girl."_

He had his rules about thievery though.

" _Take none from the poor as they have none to spare. Leave them with their money."_

" _Do not steal from some helpless man, woman or child who cannot fight you back. Steal from a strong man with a sword at his hip. Your thievery means nothing if there is no danger behind it."_

" _Steal only for yourself. If you give your spoils to the poor then you have chosen to hold one impoverished being over another. Act for yourself and you will never face this choice."_

Lantos always had a way with advice. It had been three months since Nim had seen him, but his words never left her.

A group of three soldiers sauntered through the camp near the edge, laughing drinking wine from their skins. The haze of mild drunkenness hung in their eyes. They passed by another man sitting near the edge of the camp, cleaning his sword. This was the man Nim had been eyeing for the past several minutes. He was far enough away from the other soldiers to make stealing from him possible, but the presence of his weapon made him dangerous, as per Lantos' standards of victims. He had golden blonde hair and broad soldiers. He cleaned his sword like a seasoned fighter.

" _You can tell a man's skill by the simple things,"_ Lantos used to say.  _"Like the way he cleans his sword. Does he clean it at all? Does he swipe the muck off quickly or with little care? Or does he work on the steel patiently?"_

This man worked the steel patiently. And when he shifted she heard coins jingle in his pockets. He would make a fine man to steal from.

"We're going off to find some lovely tavern wenches." One of the men passing by Nim's target laughed. "Care to join us?"

The blonde man's mouth twisted into a cocky smile. "I would but I'm afraid I would steal all the best women from you."

"With your coin, no doubt." A second man snorted.

"I'd like to think my handsome face does the trick."

The three men laughed. "Suit yourself, Lannister." The first man said; then he and his companions swaggered on their way.

Nim's grey eyes sparkled. This man was not only a Lannister soldier but a member of the Lannister family? Nim ran through who he could possibly be. Not the dwarf for sure. Could he be the Kingslayer? He had the look. He seemed too old to be one of the cousins to the main family.

She had heard tell that the Kingslayer was a prisoner of Robb Stark, but now that the war with the North had been won, perhaps he had been released. He looked as if he'd been through imprisonment. Bruises and cuts mottled his face in many places though he appeared free of any permanent damage. That made him qualified to be Nim's target. Her mouth quirked. A challenge indeed.

She waited for the soft, violet glow of twilight, the lighting she moved best in, before she began to creep forward, towards where the Kingslayer sat.

This would be one to tell Lantos, if she succeeded.

* * *

The end of this war did not have the same thrill to Jaime as the end of the last. In the end of Robert's Rebellion he had been the one to plunge a sword through the mad king's back as his father sacked the city. That moment, though only seconds long, had remained with Jaime every day sense. He did not regret his decision to kill the mad king. Why should he? Yet the words  _Oath breaker_  and  _Kingslayer_  pursued him relentlessly since.

The ending of Robert's Rebellion may have been the single most defining moment of his life. It was how a war so long and terrible should have ended. With splashes of blood and the ring of swords.

This war, on the other hand, ended without Jaime knowing it had. It ended at a wedding while Jaime sat out in the cold night, listening to the distant hum of the drunken northmen songs. He lay half asleep when the songs turned to screams and he had barely noticed. Stark banner men and the young wolf himself were cut down so close to him and yet he did not know of the war's end until Roose Bolton arrived at his prison and released him.

If Jaime's slaying of the Mad King had been dishonorable, he didn't know what Walder Frey's treachery could be called. To kill a man for breaking a vow was one thing, but to invite him under false pretenses and murder him under your own roof was something entirely different. Jaime knew his father played a part in encouraging this. After all, why would Walder Frey risk such an action if he had not been assured by a flash of gold?

Regardless of what the 'Red Wedding' had been, Jaime Lannister was free and only a few days ride from King's Landing. Cersei was close, Tyrion was close. This event deserved celebration, but Jaime didn't feel much like celebrating. Drinking didn't appeal to him right now, nor did whoring, though whoring never did catch his interest.

Shouldn't he be happier? Why not? Because he hadn't be present for the war's glorious ending? Perhaps. Having a war end under your nose was a rather deflating thing. Perhaps he feared facing his father. Again, a possibility. Every man in the seven kingdoms feared to face Tywin Lannister on a good day. Jaime could only imagine the sort of lecture that he had in store for him.

Whatever the reason for his heavy heart, it must have dulled his senses and slowed his reflexes. He should have felt the hand reaching beneath his cloak. But he didn't notice someone stood behind him until he heard the soft jingle of coins from his purse.

He rose, drawing his sword. The tip of the blade swung out in a wide arc as he turned around, brushing inches from the nose of a cloaked figure. He was small, perhaps only a boy, but the hood and long black cloak hid any physical features. The thief backed up a few steps, safely away from the tip of the blade. His boots crunched in the fallen leaves but he knew how to step. When Jaime stepped forward, he stepped back. When Jaime stepped slightly sideways, the boy mirrored him, nearly at the same time.

"You're a practiced thief, aren't you, boy?" Jaime said, stepping over a log in front of him and pressing the thief a bit away from the edge of camp. "But you picked the wrong man to steal from. Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Ser Jaime Lannister. The Kingslayer." The voice replied from beneath the cloak. A young boy indeed. His voice had not even changed yet. "And recent prisoner of the northmen." A flash of white teeth came from the shadows of the hood and Jaime realized that this  _boy_ was mocking him. Most thieves had more sense than that. Most people in general had more sense than that.

"Recent prisoner, yes." Jaime said, raising his sword a bit. The blade caught in the fading light, flashing as brightly as the boy's smile. "But as you see, I have my weapon back. I slayed a king with this blade, you know. I might slay you. I'm a dangerous man."

"Which is precisely why I chose to steal from you." The boy said.

Jaime cocked his head to the side. "Enlighten me."

"My master says that there is no use to stealing if you don't have the fear of death in you." The boy replied.

"Your master." Jaime stepped to the side and the boy mirrored him again. It was a shame Jaime couldn't see his eyes. Then it might be easier to trick him. "You're a slave?"

"A student."

"In pickpocketing?"

"No, in combat."

Jaime's eyebrows arched. "Ah, a fighter. Well, let's see how good you are then, boy. Do you think you could beat me?"

He expected the boy to run, actually. Jaime knew well enough that only about three men in Westeros were a match for him. He was not at his strongest. He'd spent a long time without a sword in his hand and often without enough to eat. But since he'd achieved his freedom he felt his old strength returning to him. At his best or not, this boy didn't stand a chance against him. If he had run, Jaime would have let him. He didn't feel like a chase, and the boy carried mere pocket change in his hand. Lannisters never ran short of gold.

"I'm not sure." The boy said, reaching beneath his cloak to grasp at two hilts, instead of turning tail and fleeing. "Perhaps I should try."

"I'll kill you easily, you know."

"So you think."

"So, I know."

"Have you ever fought me before?"

"You would not be alive if I had."

"Then you cannot know." Another flash of teeth from beneath the hood.

"You really are stupid, aren't you, boy?"

"My master says that sometimes." The boy drew his two blades. Jaime found that, instead of blades, the boy bore two long knives, thin and slightly curved. They were made of good steel but much too light to compete with a sword like Jaime's.

"Thin blades." He commented.

"Thin enough to slip through the gaps in your armor."

"Its much better protection than skin."

"That depends."

"On what?"

"If you hit me."

Jaime chuckled and shook his head. "Your funeral, boy. What is your name? I prefer to know, before I kill you."

"Nim." The boy reached up drew back his hood. "And drop the 'boy'. I'm a girl."

Jaime blinked. Indeed the 'boy' was a girl. No wonder the voice had sounded so young. It belonged to a woman. He couldn't quite tell her age because, while she had a small stature and flat features, she did not speak like a child. She was dark haired and grey eyed with pale skin. She looked like a northern born girl. Jaime had spent enough time around north men to know. Dirt clung to her face as it did to peasants of flea bottom but she spoke with a cadence that rang of higher born. Perhaps her mother had worked for a lady.

"So you are," he finally said. "Nim of what family."

"Of none." She replied. "I am Nim the Nameless."

"It has a ring to it."

"Sort of like Kingslayer."

"You're trying to test my patience, aren't you?"

"Master says a tested patience makes a weaker fighter."

Jaime sighed. She confident, this one, but utterly stupid. "I'll give you one last chance to run, Nim the Nameless."

"What, you'd let me go with your gold?"

"I happen to have that in high supply. That's just a bit of—"

"And your knife?"

"My—" Jaime stopped when he saw the girl waving a dagger with a golden hilt in the air and he cursed inwardly.

"I guess Lannister ears are more in tuned to the jingle of coins than the sliding of steel. Typical." She glanced at the blade. "It looks like very nice steel." She grinned again. "Its valyrian steel, isn't it? I like it."

With these words, she sealed the fight. No one would just let a thief run off with a valyrian steel weapon. The Lannisters lacked a valyrian steel sword unlike the other major families. The few weapons they had were trinkets compared to the other family heirlooms but they were too valuable to give up to so easily.

"I suppose you'll have to fight for the right to keep it then." Jaime said, holding his sword out to the side in preparation for the first strike.

"That was my plan, ser." The title rolled from her tongue like an insult.

"Of course it was." Jaime said. Then he swung his sword upwards in a blow that would have caught her in the chest and slit her all the way to her chin. She caught the blow between her two long knives. A ring of steel thundered through the forest's edge.

" _This is how my war should have ended."_ Jaime thought.  _"In the thick of a fight. Not in a prison cell."_

Oddly enough, that ring of steel, and the rush of blood in his ears, made him feel better.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is just the beginning. This is gonna be a long fic, so buckle in. I will update as often as possible, but I update faster with reviews and kudos! They feed my desperate need for approval. Until next time, happy reading!


	2. Fluid as Water, Deadly as Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this chapter written, so I decided to post it. I love writing the fight scenes between these two characters. Once again, a reminder that this is not a Jaime/OC fic. I would tag it if it was. I mean, I DO think OCs get way too much crap, but that's a discussion for another day. For now, enjoy!

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

_Focus._

_Do not show weakness or fear._

_Mask emotions with a smile._

_Breathe._

Each time Nim fought, she could hear Lantos' voice echoing in her head, like something out of a dream. Without very many memories, she desperately clung to the few she had, making an effort to memorize each detail. She could hear Lantos' voice everywhere she went in his strange, silky accent. She could see his bronzed skin, glistening with sweat, though he moved so effortlessly with the long knives. She could see the glimmer in his eye and the grin when she did something correctly. She could smell sea water and sawdust on his clothes and feel the heat of the late summer sun as it beat down on them, mercilessly.

It was just as well that his words came so easily to her, as if they were her own thoughts. She needed his advice in her fight with the Kingslayer.

It was stupid to accept his challenge. It was stupid to speak to him in the first place. Nim had confidence in her abilities against normal men. She had fought once or twice with gold cloaks and with other soldiers. They were a common breed, however. Jaime Lannister was renowned for his skill with a sword, and by how he moved, she knew the tales of his talent were well deserved.

_Fluid as water. Deadly as poison._

Nim remembered the words well. She hadn't wanted to fight like water, initially. She had wanted to fight like fire that burned everything around it to ash. Or lightning which cracked the ground and the sky.  _"What good is water?"_ she had asked.  _"There's no strength there."_

" _Not initially. But water breaks off rock piece by piece. Just watch the shores of Kings Landing. Watch the waves hit rock over and over again, taking pieces away. Does the rock take away pieces of the water? No."_

" _Still."_

" _Remember, pastless girl: Liquid can be deadly as rock. Water can turn to poison with the right dose of nightshade."_

So, Nim did as he asked, and after three years she had grown used to fluidity. She tried to keep herself fluid as the Kingslayer lunged at her.

His blade sliced near her face and chest with nearly every swing, so close that she thought she felt the cold steel brush her skin. Each time she spun out of the way, but only just enough to avoid the cut. Her feet slid with practiced movements across the dead leaves and dirt of the forest floor. For her style of fighting, footwork meant everything. One false step could cost her life.

She circled around the knight, using the bulk of his armor to her advantage. Large armor meant more blind spots, especially when she stood much shorter than him. When she found the right openings she struck out with her thin blades, trying to slide the tip through the gaps in his armor and nick his side.

But he was fast too. Very fast. And his footwork nearly matched hers. He bore a fighting style typical of westeros but he did not approach a fight hacking and lunging like many of the knights and soldiers Nim had fought in the past. He knew the value of patience too. And fluidity.

Technically speaking, he was better than her. But the better swordsmen did not always win a fight.

"Light on your feet, aren't you?" The Kingslayer smirked as she narrowly ducked under his sword, stumbling slightly.

"It's one of my stronger suits." Nim muttered, trying to keep her face an unreadable mask. The sweat beading across her face and her heavier breathing betray her.

"Have you considered what may happen if you start to slow down." He stabbed forward and she parried the blow. The force sent vibrations shooting through her arms.

"I'm trying not to."

She continued to match him blow for blow, her arms numbing as time went on. Each strike rattled her to her bones. She could boast speed but never strength in her combat. The Kingslayer did not have this problem.

At last he caught her by surprise. A sudden, upward strike knocked hard into each of her blades as she tried to cross them. Both spun from her hands and stuck in the dirt in between her and her opponent. Before she could retrieve her blades he had swept her feet out from under her with his foot. The tip of his sword gleamed as it leveled inches from her throat.

"I warned you, didn't I?" He smirked. Nim's fists clenched at such a smirk.

"I don't listen to warnings."

"So, I noticed." The Kingslayer said. "You held on for a longer time than most. I'll give you that, before I kill you."

"Flattery won't do me much good if I'm dead." Nim said, watching him with narrowed eyes. His body had unclenched slightly and his grip on his sword was lazy. His guard had dropped now that he had won the fight.

But he hadn't won yet. Nim was still alive so he hadn't won yet.

"True." the Kingslayer agreed. His sword raised a fraction, as if about to prepare for a strike. The moment the tip was no longer level with her throat, Nim sprung into action. She pulled the knife, Jaime Lannister's knife, from beneath her cloak and slashed his hand, cutting his fingers and palm deep enough for him to drop his sword. She shot past him, scooping up each of her long knives. Before the knight could turn she stood behind him, both blades aimed at a gap in his armor, just beneath the right arm. She placed her right foot on the hilt of his sword where it lay in the dead leaves.

"But since I plan on living a bit longer." Nim said coolly. "I'll take your flattery,  _ser_."

The Kingslayer's laugh was hoarse and marred by surprise, maybe even anger at being disarmed by her. "Quick one, aren't you?"

"So, I'm told." Nim said.

"Oy, Lannister! Where'd you run off to?" a voice called from back at the camp.

Nim smiled. "It would be funny if they came across this, don't you think?"

The Kingslayer glanced over his shoulder to glare at her. How refreshing to see him no longer smirking.

"You can tell them about your close encounter with Nim the Nameless later, I guess." She withdrew her blades from the gaps in his armor and returned them swiftly to her cloak. "Thank you, for the exercise… and the knife." She gave him a short bow. Then she was off, quick as the wind. He would not have a hope of chasing her.

Still, she didn't stop running until she was nearly at the other side of the forest. Only then did she let her smirk drop and she leaned against a tree, gasping for breath.

_One second slower…_

He would have killed her. She was sure of it. Death had brushed too close for comfort.

Yes, this would certainly be one to tell Lantos.

* * *

Jaime still cursed himself—and the damn thief—hours after she had scampered off into the forest. He shouldn't have let his guard down. He shouldn't have expected her to die without a fight.

Expectations were always a great weakness in a fight, but Jaime had a habit of expecting a lot. He  _expected_ to beat almost every man he fought one on one and he  _expected_ to defeat every girl. He  _expected_ to defeat a girl as small and stupid as Nim as well, but in the end, she had disarmed him, with his own knife, no less.

Usually, Jaime's expectations panned out. He simply believed he was one of the finest swordsmen in Westeros. Most people did not prove him wrong. During the war, the part he had been present for at least, he had cut down many men and boys who were stupid enough to attack him. He had once cut down Ned Stark's finest men with ease and he knew he could have cut down Ned Stark himself if the fight had not been interrupted. From the age of sixteen he had become an expert at killing and he was better than most at it.

Nim the Nameless was as her name implied. No one. Yet she caught him off guard. Why?

Well he wasn't at his strongest. He could blame his recent imprisonment and lack of practice on his failure to kill her. Perhaps her stance had thrown him off. She moved unlike any Westeros soldier he'd ever fought and she was a much smaller target as well. Usually he fought soldiers closer to his size.

That must have been the reason he had not beaten her.

No, he  _had_ beaten her. She lay disarmed, on the ground, inches from death. She had lost.

But he had dropped his guard. He'd gotten lazy and given her an opening. He had talked too much, been too arrogant.

He doubted he would come across the thief again, but if he did, he would not make the same mistake a second time. He would give her the credit she was due and give her no openings to recover.

If he ran across her again, he would simply kill her.

The men of the camp asked many times why Jaime Lannister seemed so grim, and how he cut his hand, but he never answered them. The answer would have only earned more ridicule and he had enough of that to last him a life time.

_Kingslayer._

_Prisoner of the North_

Damn girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without the loss of his hand, Jaime is still a touch overconfident. It is one of his blindspots. For now Jaime and Nim have parted but their paths will very soon cross again!


	3. The Meaning of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter. There is some Jaime/Cersei in this so be warned. This is not a Jaime/Cersei fic, but he is still very in love with her at this point. We're all about realism here. Enjoy!

Lantos found Nim in flea bottom, four days after her run in with the Kingslayer, in the back corner of a tavern. It was just past midday and the sun bore down on the slums of King's Landing with such ferocity that even the whores with their sheer, breezy outfits, broke into a sweat the moment they set foot outside. Many had flocked to the water to cool off. Others to the shade. Nim sat in the tavern in cobbler's square, a mug in her hand. She inspected her new dagger under the hem of her cloak, which guarded the pretty steel from unwelcome eyes. The heat made the cloak nearly unbearable. She knew that the Septons and Grand Maesters said winter was coming but it sure didn't feel like it.

"Have you found something special on this long trip of yours?" Lantos appeared next to her without any common introduction.

In Nim's experience, she never found Lantos. He found her. The man blended into nearly every environment and he would never place himself in a situation where he stuck out. Nim used to jump out of her skin every time he popped out of nowhere. Now, she just glanced back at him.

"Maybe I did." She smiled. "You left me awhile."

"A month only. I have left you for two months before, child." Lantos grinned. "Do not tell me you were lonely."

Nim made to shove him but he backed easily out of the way. "I wasn't lonely. And don't call me a child."

"You are small, like a child."

"It's not my fault I can't grow very tall." Nim said. "I'm eighteen."

"You do not know that." Lantos said. "You did not know how old you were when you woke up."

"You said I was fifteen."

"A guess."

"Well, guess or not, assuming I was fifteen, I'm eighteen now and that is  _not_ a child." Nim crossed her arms.

"As you say." Lantos' eyebrow quirked. "But it does not matter what people think you are, child or adult. You are a pair of long knives. You are a shadow in the forest. Age does not matter." He tapped Nim on the chest. "In fact your stature benefits you. Men are more likely to doubt you and doubt brings weakness."

Nim's mouth twitched as she remembered her fight with the Kingslayer. "I know that well enough."

"So, did you experience this on your journey? What did you find?"

"A few purses filled with coin." Nim said. "But my most recent training exercise was the most fruitful." She drew the Lannister's purse from her cloak. "A purse filled with gold. And…" she drew out the knife. "A Valyrian steel blade."

Lantos' eyebrows rose. "You have stolen from a highborn, haven't you?" He fingered the crimson purse. "Lannister?"

"Yes." Nim said.

"Let me venture a guess…" Lantos tapped his chin. "One of the cousin families."

Nim's smile widened. "No."

"The main family then."

"Yes."

"Not the dwarf I hope. I have told you about stealing from those at a disadvantage."

"No not the dwarf." Nim said, struggling to hide her smile.

"Ah…" Lantos nodded. "The Kingslayer."

"Yes."

Nim saw pride flash through Lantos' gaze, but something else. Something she likened to hesitation or worry, though she did not understand why.

"A risky move." He said at last, turning the purse in his hand.

"You're the one who said that the training exercise is nothing if there is no risk." Nim retorted.

"Indeed I did. But there is a difference between risk and probable death."

"I didn't die."

"But you came close, did you not?"

Nim looked away, sitting down at the table between them and drumming her fingers against the half rotted wood.

"That is what I thought." Lantos sat across from her. "What I told you is true. A risk is necessary for a successful training exercise. But you risk many things practicing on Jaime Lannister. First you risk his sword. He's one of the five most skilled fighters in this land." His mouth quirked. "Though he would meet his match in Bravos, I'm sure."

Nim smiled a bit. She'd love to see Lantos fight the Kingslayer. She was sure he could win.

"And he's not afraid to kill. He's killed many people. If you had made the slightest mistake, he may have killed you." Lantos continued. "But there is another risk. His family is one of the most powerful in Westeros. His nephew sits on the Iron Throne and his father is the hand of the king. High Garden will soon join houses with them and they have allies in the north. But for each ally they have many more enemies."

"I know all of that." Nim said. "What's your point?"

"My point is that the highest families of this land are caught up in a dangerous game that you must avoid. It is a game where strength of steel means nothing and honorable laws mean nothing. Their plots are as dark as the sewage of Flea Bottom. Whatever you do, you must not become involved with their game, Nim."

Nim shook her head. "Lantos, I never plan on seeing the man again. If I did, he'd kill me. He made the mistake of doubting me the first time. I got away with my life because of his arrogance. He won't make that mistake again." She leaned back in her chair. "Someone like me has no claim to game's like there's anyway. I'm a nameless girl from who knows where, picking pockets and studying from a once great Bravos fighter."

"Once great?" Lantos' eyebrows cocked upwards. "Perhaps your fight with the Kingslayer has made you arrogant yourself."

Nim grinned but the corners of her mouth quickly dropped. "He… really did come close to killing me. I got lucky and got away because of his arrogance." She shivered. "It was strange. I haven't come that close to death before. After you taught me how to use these long knives, I've been able to outdo most of my victims. But this…"

"So you have had a brush with death, is that what you believe?" Lantos asked.

Nim nodded.

"Good," Lantos said and Nim looked at him in surprise. "Better to have a brush than a full encounter. Better for a person to meet death early and get acquainted. That way, you might become friends with him before you die." He leaned forward across the table. "Listen to me, pastless girl. Every time you encounter death, you must give him a smile. And if you speak to him, you tell him only one thing."

"What?"

"Not today." Lantos reached out and ruffled Nim's hair. "You have done well on your own for this past month and you have found many souvenirs." He tossed her the smallest of the purses, filled with only a few silver coins. "Do with that as you will. And keep your special knife. We will train later. Understand?"

"Yes, Lantos." She stuck the purse and knife into her cloak. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. You helped yourself, Nim the Nameless." Lantos rose and within minutes he had disappeared into the crowds of the tavern, blended in again. If Nim had tried to go after him she knew she would not find him.

Instead she finished her drink and rose to her feet, stepping out onto the ungodly hot streets of Flea bottom. She would have to find some place suitable to spend her coin. She had earned it, after all.

* * *

The Red Keep was quite a sight after all of this time. From the moment Jaime spotted King's Landing on the horizon he hadn't been able to think of anything else. The scorching heat suddenly didn't matter and nor did any of his outer and inner battle scars. He felt so close to Cersei. He knew that she sat somewhere within those walls, probably miserable, as usual. Cersei used to say that while Jaime took all the fun and happiness, she bore all the misery. An untruthful statement, of course. Jaime just succeeded more often at hiding misery and doubt than Cersei did.

She liked to think that she had a good mask for that sort of thing, but never to him. He could tell by the way her eyelids twitched and her mouth tightened when she was unhappy. Since she had married Robert, she was usually unhappy.

Jaime lived for the moments when he could make her smile with genuine happiness.

He remembered a time when King's Landing had been a prison rather than a home. A prison where men burned alive and the Mad King laughed at their screams. And Cersei hadn't even been there amidst it all. Jaime sometimes wondered how many men he had watched die, a pointless task, considering they were beyond counting.

He supposed it didn't matter anymore. King's Landing no longer seated a blood thirsty tyrant on its throne. That's what he hoped at least.

* * *

She sat on her bed in her chambers, facing away from the door. Her golden hair was longer than he remembered, but still the same shade of gold he knew so well. The same shade of gold that covered his own head. He remembered how angry Cersei became when they were young, concerning her hair. She wanted to keep it cropped as Jaime did, but ladies were meant to have long hair, flowing to their waists. They didn't understand then why they must be forced to look so different when they had come into the world nearly identical.

Cersei had long stopped trying to fight the conventions of hair but in her heart, her rebellion lingered. Jaime had always loved that about her.

He leaned against the door when she did not turn around, content to watch the back of her head until she noted his presence. Her shoulders hung heavier when she was alone. Only in solitude did she allow herself to display weakness.

Several minutes passed before she seemed to sense someone else in the room. She whipped around, her mouth opening as if to chastise whoever had entered without asking first. The words died on her lips when she saw Jaime. He couldn't help but smirk at the unmasked shock on her face. Her green eyes, identical to his, swept over him, as if surveying him for damage. When her eyes met his again, she managed to speak.

"You're later than expected."

"I'm not so late." Jaime said. "A few days at most."

"Anything could have happened in those few days." Cersei said. Her frown countered his amusement. "We have enemies everywhere. Surviving northern rebels, Iron Islanders, Stannis, the Brotherhood without—"

"Alright, alright, calm down." Jaime stepped forward, holding up one hand. "You sound almost worried, sweet sister."

Cersei crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. "Incredible...You're still joking. I would think nearly two years as a prisoner would have sobered your sense of humor."

"Not at all. It seems to have sobered yours though." Jaime said.

"Some of us have been trying to run the country."

"And worrying about me, it seems."

Cersei brushed her hair from her face, still not meeting his eyes. Why did she always struggle to show happiness? Had Jaime truly stolen her joy in the womb, and she all of his seriousness? No… once they were more similar. Once, when they were children, she smiled more often.

Why should she be so miserable now? She was free of the drunken fool who once called himself a king. Her son by him sat on the throne. The north had been scattered to the wind. By all rights she should be happy.

"I'm alright, Cersei." He lifted a hand to raise her chin. "There's no damage. You don't have to worry anymore. I'm right here."

She met his eyes at last. "Yes… it seems you are."

Her mouth twitched. A near smile. The simplest motion that hinted happiness was enough for Jaime to draw her into his arms.

It seemed then as if all boundaries dissolved. Their bodies melded together in the embrace, as if they were meant to do so. They were, as far as Jaime was concerned.

_We came into this world together. We belong together._

A simple matter of "morality" could never keep them apart.

"Do we have privacy?" Jaime growled out against Cersei's mouth as he began tugging at her clothes.

"We do if you locked the door." She gasped out.

"It so happens I did."

"Were you expecting me to bring me to bed the moment you saw me?"

"Something like that."

Jaime silenced them both soon after with an aggressive kiss.

All of his problems—His imprisonment in the north, the long journey home, and the troubles on the road—soon dissolved from his mind. Only his other half mattered in that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Nim will soon clash again, and I think it goes without saying that Nim is going to get caught up in this game of thrones. None the less, leave kudos and reviews and I will see you next time!


	4. Stirring Uncertainties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Before we jump into this latest chapter, a clearer picture of how I've changed the timeline:
> 
> The War with the North lasted three and a half years, beginning when Ned Stark was imprisoned for treason. Jaime was taken hostage 6 months into the war's beginning and was only just recently released after the red wedding. The Battle of Blackwater occurred two years into the war with the North and Sansa Stark escaped with the Hound during said battle. Ages of characters have been changed for future reasons. Sansa Stark was sixteen rather than thirteen when Ned Stark's head was removed and Arya Stark was fourteen. That would make them twenty and eighteen now, respectively.

"You are not fluid enough." Lantos chided, whacking Nim on the back of the legs with his wooden weapon. She stumbled forward, glaring at him.

"It's not that I wasn't fluid." She protested. "I wasn't ready that time."

"Not fluid and not prepared." Lantos clicked his tongue. "Two flaws of combat which will get you killed."

"Sorry." Nim muttered.

Lantos' eyebrows rose as he inspected her. "You are distracted. Tell me why, child."

"I'm not a—"

"You are a child to me and I may call you as I like, since you are nameless." Lantos said shortly. "That was not the answer to my question."

Nim lowered her practiced long knives. The tips dragged in the dirt as she did. "I just… I wondered something."

"Wondering does no good if you do not say what is on your mind." Lantos said. "Tell me."

"When I fought the King's Slayer, he asked what family I was from." Nim said. "As if he expected them to be someone he knew. Why is that?"

Lantos observed her for a long moment before he spoke. "Does it matter what he wondered your family was? You have no family."

"I did once."

"They were obviously not important enough for you to remember them."

Nim glared at him. "You know I would get my memory back if I could. But I don't know how."

Lantos sighed. "I do know." He leaned against the wall of the tavern they were practicing behind. "Nim, you have been given a gift, of sorts. You are able to see the world through unburdened eyes. You have no bias. No loyalty. You are simply yourself. If you had knowledge of your family… more would be expected of you."

"They're still my family." Nim said. "Wherever they are. I'd like to know why the Kingslayer thought I might be from a family he'd recognize."

Lantos shrugged. "You speak with the cadence of a higher born. And so you always have. Perhaps you were once a lady."

"I doubt that." Nim rolled her eyes.

Lantos smiled slightly. "As I said, it no longer matters. Now you are only a pair of long knives. You are only Nim. Isn't that enough for you?"

Nim shrugged. "I guess so."

"Good." Lantos said. "Now, it is time you rested. We leave early tomorrow."

"Leave?" Nim's brow furrowed. "For where?"

"The Kingswood."

"Why?"

"I have some business there and I'd like you to come with me. After that, you will be free to go your own way once again."

"You'll be leaving again?" Nim's shoulder's sagged. "But we've only been together for a week."

"True. And in a few days we shall again be apart." Lantos said, turning to leave. "Rest Nim. And be ready to travel early."

Nim sighed and knelt to store her practice long knives in her pack. She always traveled lightly. Her bag fit neatly beneath her cloak and barely caused any bulge. All her other necessities, her real long knives, daggers and purse, she kept in her belt. She'd always been good at moving at a moment's notice and Lantos was all about a moment's notice.

He left more often now. In the first year after she woke up, she nearly never parted with him. He taught her each and every day, drilling her for hours on end, in order to give Nim a purpose. No matter how tired or beaten down she got, she never became discouraged. She never wanted to quit. What would she do if she did? She had nowhere else to go.

The second year he left her for brief periods. That was when she first began to steal as her 'training exercise'. She survived well enough on her own. But after those brief periods he always came back and continued to train her. He never spoke of what he did in the times he left her. She asked sometimes but she never received a straight answer.

The third year, this year, consisted of the longest gaps. Nim felt a sort of freedom in these periods of independence. But she missed Lantos and she feared what would happen if she did not continue to get better. Her encounter with the Kingslayer proved that she still had much to learn. Maybe she was not learning fast enough so Lantos had begun to let her go.

She shook her head. Lantos wouldn't do that. He knew that he was the only friend she had. He wouldn't abandon her.

She wondered if her family had abandoned her. Or were they out there somewhere, still searching? Still believing she would come home?

Was her home a rundown shack or farmhouse? Or a great castle like the Red Keep? She looked up at the sky, observing the great structure jutting up hundreds of feet above every other building in King's Landing. She couldn't picture herself living in such a great building, being waited on by servants.

Or maybe she did the waiting? Maybe she was a servant to great family and that's why she knew their higher born speech. She knew how to read. Maybe she had access to their books and taught herself. Maybe she had a mother who worked in a keep and taught her the words.

Nim smiled softly at the thought of having a mother. She wondered if she might jog her memory if she walked through the halls of the Red Keep. Would the castle be familiar to her?

Though she had no memories, she always had a peculiar sense of direction in certain places. She knew the Kingsroad when she first stepped onto it. She recognized the Sept of Baelor and she was sure she once entered the city through the Gate of Gods before she lost her memory.

But such knowledge consisted only of vague feelings. It frustrated her, going to familiar places. She could feel the memories pressing at the back of her mind, as if trapped behind a wall. How many times had she dreamed of something familiar, only to wake remembering nothing?

She shook her head, rubbing a hand over her forehead. Lantos was right. It didn't do any good to think about who she used to be. Now she was only Nim. She should be happy with that.

She had been happy with that.

How could such a simple question from the Kingslayer throw her focus so much?

* * *

Leaving King's Landing helped clear Nim's head. There were fewer memories out here. She knew the Kingswood well but not for reasons of her unknown past. Lantos and her had come to the great forest many times for practice or otherwise. She always enjoyed the Kingswood and she enjoyed travelling with Lantos.

"You still haven't told me why we're here." Nim said, trotting beside him.

"That is because you will find out soon enough." Lantos replied.

"Why not now?"

"Because you must learn the value of patience."

"You're not refusing to tell me because you want to teach me patience." Nim muttered. "You said that teaching me patience was a hopeless task."

"It is indeed, but I have renewed the effort."

"I think you're lying."

"Perhaps I am. But it matters not either way."

They continued through the woods in silence, Nim's face drawn in a frown. Lantos was secretive by nature but she hated when things were kept from her. Most of her life had been kept from her since she woke up. She couldn't stand secrets.

Near evening the second day, they stopped in perhaps one of the deepest places of the Kingswood. Lantos raised a hand, looking around as if searching for something. Nim peered out from behind him, grey eyes searching the trees. Then, she caught the movement of a shadow from within the trees. Her long knives were in her hand in an instant but Lantos placed a hand on hers.

"Lower your weapon, child. These are not enemies of ours."

More shadows stirred in the trees and as they came forward, Nim could make out the shapes of men. They were garbed in simple clothes though they were armed. They flew no banner and wore no colors. Were they rebels?

"Lantos." The man at the lead said. "Always nice to see your face. What brings you here?" he glanced down at Nim. "And who is the girl?"

"My name is Nim." Nim answered for herself. "Who are you?"

"We are the Brotherhood without Banners." The man replied, glancing between his companions. "Fighting for the protection of the realm."

Nim's eyes narrowed a bit. "How are you fighting when you're in the deepest parts of the Kingswood? Not much fighting going on here."

"Aye." The man at the lead grinned, rather than be offended by Nim. "But the bannerless need somewhere to retreat to. Lords have their castles and we have the woods." He looked to Lantos. "Sharp tongued girl you've got there."

"She's been sharpening her tongue since before she can remember." Lantos agreed.

"I'm sure." The man said. "So what brings you here, friend?"

"When I can, I make donations to the brotherhood." Lantos said. "And it just so happens I've come across a rather large sum of money recently." He reached into his pockets and pulled at the crimson purse of the Kingslayer. The coins jingled from within. "And so I do my part."

The man took the purse from Lantos and opened it up to peer inside. "Gold." He smiled, looking back at his men. "Quite a bit of gold. And where did you come across this luck?"

 _I stole it._ Nim wanted to say. She didn't like the gold she stole being handed over to these men who hid in the woods. They said they fought but she hadn't heard of any battles lately. The Brotherhood without Banners was known, of course. But known for stealing from carts and conducting raiding parties on Lannister, Stark and Baratheon men alike. They were little better than her.

But Lantos cast her a glance and Nim shut her mouth.

"Methods and previous owners matter little." Lantos said. "It is yours now."

"Many thanks, friend." The man nodded. "We still wish you would join us. Someone of your skills would be of great use."

Lantos merely shook his head. "Even a Bannerless enemy is too prominent of a side for me to choose. I prefer to remain side-less."

"As you say." The nodded his head in respect. "We hope to attain another donation from you in the future."

The men turned and left then, fading back into the trees.

"I'm the one who stole that gold. It belonged to us. Why did you give it to them?" Nim asked in a hushed voice as soon as they had disappeared.

"You could never have spent so much gold." Lantos said. "It is better in those hands."

"In the hands of cowards, hiding in the trees?"

"You know little child."

"I know the gold belonged to me." Nim said. "And you gave it up without telling me."

"The gold belonged to the Kingslayer, Nim." Lantos said. "And before that, it belonged to the ground. Possession matters very little. At one time or another, nothing was owned. We are born into this world with nothing. How can we claim possession over money?"

Nim did not answer but her gaze did not soften.

Lantos sighed. "Perhaps you will understand with time. Time does many things to you, Nim. It has hardened you into a warrior. And you've grown from a bony girl to a woman—"

"I thought you said I was a child." Nim said. "And if I'm a woman, why do people still think I'm a boy?"

"They only think you are a boy because you cover yourself with a cloak. In less to cover you, you would not be so lucky." Lantos smiled. "You barely look like the person I found in the woods three years ago. Perhaps time will also bring understanding. But for now, I must leave you."

"Here?" Nim asked, looking around the woods.

"Yes." Lantos said as he walked away. "You may do as you please. I'm sure there is much you can occupy yourself with. Be sure you practice every day."

"I will but why do you have to leave…" Nim began, but he had already moved out of ear shot. She sighed. "…now."

She stood for a long while, unsure of what to do. Then her eyes trailed back to the trees where the Brotherhood had disappeared, moments ago.

" _Perhaps its time for another training exercise."_ Nim thought.  _"After all, possession is relative. If the gold because mine again, does it matter that it ever belonged to them?"_

She decided that it did not matter, and with this thought on her mind she crept off into the woods, quiet as a shadow, to follow the bannerless men.

* * *

At first glance, everything was as it should be. Jaime had been reinstated as the head of the King's Guard. Cersei and he were reunited. Their father, while currently absent from the capital, was hand of the king. Tyrion sat on the small council. And Jaime's son sat on the iron throne.

Everything seemed perfect for the Lannister family, by all accounts. But Jaime felt a growing sense of unease. Not because of his sister. Not because of his reinstatement in the King's Guard. No. Joffery was the one making him feel uneasy.

Everyone tread carefully around Joffery, even Cersei. They chose their words carefully, pausing frequently to be sure they were not saying something that might offend him. Many times they chose not to speak at all. Jaime heard whispers of the things Joffery had done since hisrrise to the throne.

Jaime had guessed Joffery was a rash king the moment he heard that the boy had ordered off Ned Stark's head. He didn't have a kind heart in the first place, but kingship did nothing to improve his temperament it seemed.

His bride to be did, however, though Cersei never stopped mentioning how much she loathed Lady Margery. Much had changed since Jaime was last here. Once, Sansa Stark had been engaged to Joffery but the girl had mysteriously disappeared at the Battle of Blackwater. Not a surprise. True love never bloomed well with a head on a spike looming above it.

Of course, the disappearance had been a loss since they had neither Stark girl to trade for Jaime while he was imprisoned. The wild daughter, Arya, had disappeared from the castle the moment her father was thrown in prison. An amazing girl, to escape all of the guards and even Varys' spies. It would be impossible to find her now, if she was still alive. Years had passed since anyone had last seen her, and time had a way of turning children unrecognizable. It had certainly done so to Joffery.

Jaime barely recognized his son anymore. He'd convinced himself it was because he'd spent so much time away from the Capitol but somehow he knew that wasn't true. Council meetings were a tense affair, especially with Tyrion (Who had taken over Little finger's position of treasurer) who had a clear dislike for every word that came out of Joffery's mouth.

"Our sweet sister let him loose from his leash." He had told Jaime in private. "There's no caging him again. A shame, because a cage would be welcome."

In the second council meeting since Jaime had returned, he received his first real orders from his son.

"The Brotherhood is becoming more of a nuisance of late." Varys told the council. "The Lannister men traveling home from the war have been repeatedly attacked. It seems they become bolder."

"Too bold," Joffery said. Such a strange thing to see such an arrogant voice come from such a boy. "If we allow them to continue these raids without resistance then they'll make us look like fools."

"Wise to cut the head of the snake." Grand Maester Pycelle nodded, slowly. He agreed with every word Joffery said, just as he once agreed with every word the mad king said. Jaime had never liked the old man.

"The active group seems to be relatively small." Varys said. "They never put too many of their men into action at once. But the active group should be dealt with none the less."

"Uncle." Joffery said, looking to Jaime. "You will take men to the Kingswood and draw out these cowards. Kill them all. And if there is a leader among them, bring him back to me so that I may personally see to his end."

"The place of the King's Guard is by the King." Cersei warned her son. "Particularly the head of the King's Guard."

"The King's Guard can function for a week without him." Joffery said, silencing Cersei with a cutting gaze. Cersei's eye twitched and her mouth tightened. Unhappy again. Jaime hated to see that. "It did when he was imprisoned, didn't it?"

Jaime gritted his teeth together but bore the insult in silence.

"It seems wise to send someone trustworthy to lead the party." Varys said. "I would not worry of the King's safety, your grace. We are in a time of relative peace."

"Yes surely the king… and the queen regent," Tyrion cast a look at Cersei. "Can survive without ser Jaime for the week."

If Cersei's gaze could kill, Tyrion would have dropped dead right there. Their relationship certainly hadn't changed.

"As you command, your grace." Jaime nodded. It sounded strange to say such words to a boy, his son no less.

He didn't want to leave the keep so soon after arriving, but killing had a way of clearing his head. The return to King's Landing had been a dizzying escapade of politics, which Jaime had never cared much for. He could see the trouble lurking in the capitol despite the peace. And it all seemed to stem from Joffery.

In a fight Jaime could rely on the simple truths: The man he fought wanted to kill him, and he had to kill him first.

Killing was simpler than politics any day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter, Nim and Jaime will come back into contact. Honestly I think Nim's identity is obvious from the beginning, so I caved and put it in the tags. Leave comments and subscribe to find out. Until then, happy reading!


	5. Bannerless Enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with another chapter and another meeting between Jaime and Nim. Enjoy!

Most days, Nim thought of her spite as an attribute rather than a vice. She couldn't deny the enjoyment she received out of standing up to others with a smirk on her face and a gleam in her eye. Taunts flowed off her tongue like the sweetest of wines. And she loved the surge of in her blood that came from a fight.

Lantos often warned against such foolish desires. One should only fight for necessity or practice, he said. Never for the rush. A rush is a brief and fleeting thing. And often fleeting things can get a swords man killed. Arrogance, recklessness, greed. All of these fleeting things could be death blows to even the greatest swordsmen.

But most times, Nim had a hard time denying herself the rush.

And sometimes she damned her spite and recklessness to the deepest of the seven hells. Take now, for instance.

Branches caught on her cloak as she vaulted through the trees and the sharp ends tangled in her short hair and scratched the surface of her skin. She only felt the slight tug when her skin ripped. No pain. Pain always melted away in the wake of fear and exhilaration.

Footsteps echoed from behind her, heavy boots that snapped branches and crackled leaves with each heavy step. The last time Nim had checked there were ten of them. Usually, the brotherhood would never send out so many pursuers but they had no caravans of supplies to attack at the moment. Perhaps they wanted the practice.

But really, Nim knew they wanted the gold.

With each step she took, she heard the coins jingle in the red pouch that had once belonged to the Kingslayer. And in the much larger bag that she had taken because she could. If she had been smart at all, she would have stuck to the bag she had originally stolen fair and square.

But the second bag had been right there. Right in front of her hands. How could she resist?

She should have resisted. Because now she had ten pursuers. All armed. And there was no way in the seven hells she could beat them all. She'd be lucky if she could kill two before getting stabbed in the back by the other eight.

Placing her hand on a trunk of a tree, she vaulted over with effortless ease. She tried to lose the much larger men by traveling the smaller paths. Squeezing through tree trunks. Ducking under low branches. But these men knew the Kingswood well. They would not be so easily thrown off.

She knew that she could not evade them on the ground. Not for long. So, spotting a low hanging branch, she caught the rough bark between her hands and swung up onto it. Without pausing to inhale she scrambled up into the branches. She jumped from one and into the arms of another tree. The bark scraped the skin almost clean off her skin. Still no pain. Only the rush.

Nim didn't stop until she was four trees away from her original climbing spot, enough off her original path to throw her pursuers off. She waited with ragged breath as their footsteps rushed by. Then the sounds began to fade.

Two solid minutes of silence past and the comforting sound of rustling leaves and twittering birds filled Nim's ears, bringing her breathing back to its normal level. They'd be diverted but not for long. Soon they'd realize she gave them the slip and double back. She had to get out of the Kingswood and fast.

She jumped from her tree and landed lightly in a pile of leaves on the ground. Then she ran.

She found one of the main roads quickly and hurried along. The brotherhood normally kept away from the main road unless they were intercepting a caravan. Afterall, they were criminals. Perhaps if Nim traveled by the main road, she would be safe.

But then a new sound met her ears. Not the sound of tramping boots but of clomping hooves. Nim looked up to see a party of three horses trotting down the road. Lannister horses. And the man at their lead.

The man at their lead was the very man whose old purse she had tucked into her cloak. Jaime Lannister.

" _Seven hells…"_

* * *

Joffery had sent Jaime to the Kingswood with fifty swords. Less than the brotherhood's total numbers but they tended to travel in smaller packs rather than large groups. And many were undisciplined as normal soldiers. They had their skilled warriors of course. Thoros of Myr. Berric Dondarrion. And other nameless renegades with a talent for slaughter. But talents could only go so far against trained soldiers and armor.

Jaime had taken two men to scout up the road from where they had set up camp. Usually he would send another man to do the scouting but he went himself today. He half hoped one of the Brotherhood would charge him from the trees just to give him something to kill. He needed bloodshed to break the tension.

But it wasn't one of the bannerless men who they discovered on the road. But rather a familiar, scraggly girl, covered in dirt, cuts and bruises.

Nim. That nameless runt who had stolen his dagger and gold.

She froze as soon as their eyes met, and Jaime felt rather satisfied to see her fear for a brief moment. She had kept an impressive mask in their first encounter but she knew well enough that he wouldn't allow her to leave alive this time.

He couldn't let her leave alive this time.

"Who's that, my lord?" the man to his right asked.

"A known thief." Jaime replied. "It seems as if she may have friends in these woods. Maybe she is with the brotherhood. Not a surprise."

"Friends… right." Nim muttered. "This is a terrible time. It really couldn't be worse."

"I'm glad to hear it." Jaime said, a smirk curling over his face.

"Do you want her questioned or killed?" The man to his left asked.

"There are plenty more like her." Jaime said, without much hesitation. "Ride her down."

But no sooner had the command left his lips, the girl dove off the road and into the trees. Jaime kicked his horse forward, cantering after her. He could corner her before she got far. So long as he managed to trap her before the woods became too thick. He maneuvered his horse quickly through the foliage, and his horse moved without question. Horses trained for soldiers had faced battlefields much worse than this. The girl couldn't hope to divert them simply by diving into the trees.

He caught her in a small clearing only several yards away from the woods, cutting off her escape path. He jumped off his horse, drawing his sword quickly from its sheath. "You seem less prepared this time, girl."

"Right…" her grey eyes darted about, as if she was expecting some other enemy to emerge from the trees. "Perhaps you could keep your voice down? I think you should."

"Why would I do that?"

"No reason. The thought just occurred to me."

She certainly sounded as unhinged as she appeared and Jaime didn't think he was the only cause. But he didn't much care who else caused her unease.

His two other men emerged in the clearing behind them. They had to abandon their horses at the road, as they were not as well trained and had refused to cross through the trees. But now they had her cornered between three armored men.

Nim hastily drew her long knives, but her hands seemed to shake at the hilts. He could see that her palms were scraped bloody and her face had been cut numerous times by branches. Had she been running from something?

Jaime nodded to his men behind Nim and they lashed out at her. She dropped under the swing of both their swords and rolled backwards, slashing out with her knives. The blades glanced off their armor with a loud clang. Jaime's eyes narrowed slightly. Yes, her strikes seemed much less controlled today. Her movement was last minute and erratic. Exhaustion perhaps.

One of the men stabbed out at her from the front. She side stepped and stabbed upwards with the blade, catching him across the wrist. His grip on the sword faltered and she slammed her body into his legs, sending him falling and the sword tumbling from his hands. She stabbed downwards, sinking the knife deep into his throat. She could fight well enough to kill, it seemed. But with such irregular movements, she could not hope to fair well against Jaime.

The surviving man let out a yell and lunged at her. She backed up, bending backwards with each step to avoid the cut of his blade. She finally dropped and rolled under his feet, drawing her blades sharply across the unprotected back of his knees. He dropped and she stood, panting for breath, her eyes wild. She began to raise her blades, intent on killing his second man, but Jaime interceded in that moment sliding his sword in front of her strike with ease. With a sharp flick of his wrist he sent her knives flying from her hands, still slick with blood. She stumbled backwards, grey eyes filled with a mix of fear and hatred.

"You should have known better than to cross swords with me in the first place, girl." Jaime said. "A Lannister always pays his debts."

"I should have killed you." Nim spat. Jaime's brow furrowed. Seeing her unhinged stood in sharp contrast to the last time he fought with her. But it was also familiar in some way. He recognized the look in her eyes. Had he seen it on her face before? Or on another face. He couldn't figure it out. But the anger in those grey eyes seemed so familiar.

Not that it mattered now.

"Probably." Jaime agreed. "So why didn't you?"

"I'm a thief, not a murderer."

"Tell that to the dead man over there."

"He attacked me first."

"Right." Jaime said, keeping pace with Nim as she continued to back up. He saw her eyes flash as she glanced to the right, towards her fallen weapon. A second later she bolted for it, but this time, Jaime wasn't about to let her get what she wanted. With a swift jerk of his foot, he knocked her off her feet and to the ground. He raised his sword over his head to deliver the finishing blow.

"My lord!" the surviving man called out in warning. Jaime turned in time to see an arrow sprout from the man's throat, and just in time to block the sword strike from another man. One of the Brotherhood's rabble. Out of the corner of his eye, Jaime saw Nim scramble away, going for her weapons but he didn't have time to stop her. He had more pressing matters at hand now.

The man who had attacked him tried once again for a strike but Jaime opened his stomach with a well-placed slash of his own and knocked him hard in the head with his armored hand, sending him falling to the ground. He turned about and found himself faced with nine other men, all of the brotherhood. Most wielded swords, two wielded a bow and arrow. None of them were known to Jaime's eyes, but that meant nothing. Nine against one provided unfavorable odds.

"This is why I said not to make so much noise." He heard the girl mutter. He glanced over his shoulder to see her standing back to back with him. Only then did he realized that she was  _not_ allies with the brotherhood.

"This lot was after you?" Jaime asked.

"Yes, they were." She sighed.

"She stole a good bit of coin from us." One of the men, who Jaime perceived to be the leader, spoke. "We want it back."

"Some of it belonged to me." Nim said. "I stole it in the first place."

"And the extra you stole from us?"

"A gift of course."

Jaime smirked and shook his head. "Seems you landed yourself into a precarious predicament, girl."

"And you as well, Lannister." The leading man said. "We wanted to catch the thief but we're just fine with catching the Kingslayer as well."

"My father would not let that go unpaid."

"He left you in the hands of the north for three years." The man smirked. Others around him snickered.

Jaime kept his confident smirk present but anger burned through him. He raised his sword but made no reply. "How do you think you'll fair against these men, girl?" he asked.

"I have no idea." She replied. "But I hope you're as good as they say because we might need that now."

"We?"

"Did you plan on fighting me in  _addition_  to the nine men?"

Jaime sighed. A good point. "If you live, I'll kill you afterwards."

"If I live, you're welcome to try." Nim replied evenly, turning her long knives in her hands.

The man leading the hunting party smirked. "Kill the thief, try to take to Kingslayer alive."

The men took this as their cue to attack and Jaime quickly found himself caught up in the battle.

Well, he had wanted a good fight to clear his head. He just didn't think it would be under these circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to slightly leave on a cliffhanger but the next chapter will be out soon! Until then subscribe and review. Happy reading!


	6. Paying Debts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the last chapter cliffhanger, I am back. Time for Jaime and "Nim" to team up in a fight for the first time. Who will come out the winner? Enjoy!

This had quickly become a terrible day. Nim's initial triumph at her successful thievery and outwitting of her pursuers had left her euphoric. But then the Kingslayer simply  _had_ to come across her, humiliate her in a fight for which she was unprepared and then attract the enemies she had worked so hard to outrun. It was impossible for things to get any worse.

Nine against two was bad odds, even if Jamie Lannister was a skilled fighter. Nim was exhausted already and not at her best. With her nerves unhinged, flowing like water would be impossible. She would be more like chunks of ice in a river of the north.

Still, her grip tightened on her weapons as she stood back to back with the Kingsslayer. The bulk of his armor put her in the blind spot of six of the men, leaving three in her direct path. She'd have to strike fast and hard.

"Kill the thief." The man leading the party ordered. "Try to take the Kingslayer alive."

_I am doomed,_ she thought, preparing for the first wave of the attacks.

Nim skirted shot from an arrow skidding across the forest floor until she came level with the man's hip. She slashed twice, once across the back of one of his knees and once across his side, causing him to pitch sideways with a cry of pain. He nearly fell on top of her and would have if she hadn't skittered out of the way.

She almost ran right into the strike of another man, this one with a sword. The steel whistled so close to her shoulder that she was sure he sliced the fabric of her clothing. Without a second thought she let gravity take her flat to the ground. The momentum of the strike took him off balance and she managed to draw her blade sharply across his ankle. He went down, falling on his own sword and effectively doing himself in.

Nim scrambled back to her feet at last as she faced another opponent, this man with long knives much like hers. He did not fall to trickery so easily, matching her strike for strike. Nim made an effort to keep her grip on her knives strong, though her muscles had begun to burn and her lungs ached for a reprieve.

Somehow, in the midst of her fight, she ended up back to back with the Kingslayer again. He was facing off against the lead man. Nim did not have time to see how many men he had killed as she was far too occupied. He didn't seem to worried though. He was confident enough to start running his mouth at least.

"Keeping up all right, girl? You seem to be tiring."

Nim countered a strike to the side. Her every nerve vibrated on impact but she answered the Lannister all the same. "I'm fine. I would worry about yourself."

"Between the two of us, you should be worried. Once all of these men are dead, you won't have any energy left to fight me," Jaime said.

"Right. Duck." Nim side stepped a blow from her opponent, which would have hit Jaime Lannister in the back if he hadn't moved out of the way with her. They ended up side by side, backs to the trees, facing the four men still standing. "You may not survive this fight. Then I will be fine."

"If I don't survive, then neither will you."

"Then I suppose it won't matter if I'm tired or not."

"True enough." He drove his sword through the throat of his opponent and was quick to engage the lead man again, who was still standing back with barely a scratch on him. Nim, meanwhile, was left facing a man with a club and a man with a sword.

She feigned left and ducked right, trying to get around the man with the sword to take out the man with the club. The man with the sword caught this movement and tried to cut Nim's legs out from under her. She had just enough time to jump, propelling herself through the air and bringing her knife level with his throat. Before gravity could take hold of her again, she jabbed her blade through the soft hollow of his flesh. He pitched backward and she fell with him, releasing her grip on the blade in his throat as she went. She didn't have time to pull it out as she landed herself right in front of the man with the club.

She pushed herself from the man with the sword's body just before he hit the ground, lunging forward as the man with the club started to bring his great weapon up to smash in her head. She slid across the ground, demanding one final burst of energy from her muscles as she jammed her other long knife into the flesh of the man's unarmored stomach. Blood trickled from his mouth and the club slipped from his hand.

"Shit." Nim muttered under her breath, side stepping the man as he fell in order to avoid a deadly blow from the club. She ended up back to back with the Kingslayer again. She turned to look at him just as he disarmed his opponent, the man who had led the hunting party, and jammed his great sword into his chest up to the hilt.

"I'm afraid I don't let insults go unpaid." He hissed as he glared into the stunned man's eyes. "A Lannister always pays his debts."

That was the last man, and Nim had to run before the Kingslayer could withdraw his sword from the man's body but her eye caught something else before she could turn to bolt. The man with the bow and arrow, the first man she had fought, had notched another arrow. He aimed at the back of his comrade. Nim saw his plan in his eyes. He planned to loose the arrow just as soon as his companion's body fell. And Jaime Lannister would not have time to dodge.

Nim made a split second decision. As the Kingslayer withdrew his weapon from his latest victim's body, she spun in front of him, drawing the Valyrian steel dagger from her belt and hurling it toward the man with the bow and arrow as his fingers released the taut string.

The blade struck him in the throat just as the arrow struck her in the shoulder.

"Seven hells." She groaned, stumbling back. Pain blossomed in her shoulder, more intense than a stab wound. It felt as if someone had pushed liquid fire into her veins. She sank to her knees, pressing her hand over her wound. A shadow fell over her and she found herself looking up at Jaime Lannister who still held his bloody sword in hand.

She should have cut her losses and run. Now she was weaponless, wounded and on her knees with no hope of escape.

Yes, this quickly had turned into a terrible day. And it was quite possibly her last.

* * *

Though it had all happened quickly, Jaime Lannister knew two things about those few seconds in between him killing the final man and Nim's injury. One, the man with the bow and arrow had been aiming for Jaime's throat. Two, the girl had saved said throat with her quick thinking.

And now she knelt on the ground with the arrow that had been meant for him embedded in her shoulder. It seemed it would be very easy to kill her now, since she was weaponless.

And yet…

"I don't think an arrow wound is supposed to hurt this much." The girl muttered. "Or make me feel dizzy. I haven't even lost blood." She swayed. "I've stayed standing… after losing more blood than this."

It was true, a simple arrow to the shoulder shouldn't be enough to make her pass out. It had to hurt but it had embedded itself cleanly in her flesh. Only a few drops of blood leaked from the entrance and exit wound, staining her clothing.

"Are you just going to stare at me or are you going to kill me." Nim snapped, looking up at him. She had that unhinged, panicked look in her grey eyes again, which she tried to mask with anger. She wasn't very good at it.

"I'm debating it," he said at last. Then he turned and moved over to the man with the bow and arrow. He observed his weapons, running his finger along the tip of the arrows. The skin came away slick. "I think he coated his arrows with poison. Numbing Poison, by the looks of it. The brotherhood is fond of this kind of dirty trick."

"What does it do?" Nim asked. Her words seemed a bit slower.

"It numbs the body. Stays in the blood stream slowly shutting off the nerves. It's a slow moving poison but if nothing is done about it, it can do permanent damage."

"How pleasant."

"Within a few days it can stop the heart, if I remember this correctly from Maester Pycelle. It—hey! What do you think you're doing?"

The idiot girl had started pulling at the arrow, trying to rip it out of her shoulder.

"Getting the poisonous object out of my body because I don't want to die." She snapped. "I'll leave it in if you plan to kill me because it won't matter but since you're being slow about it--"

"Then you'll lose a lot of blood and  _still_ be poisoned." He shrugged. "Doesn't seem particularly smart to me."

She cast him a scathing look but her eye lids seemed to droop. The arrow's poison seemed to be making her drowsy. "Well what do you suggest? I don't have access to your fancy _Grand Maester_." She spit the word. "Should I just let it slowly stop my heart?" Her hand trembled about the arrow she was clutching. "I should have let it hit  _you_."

"You should have. Why didn't you?" Jaime asked.

The girl didn't answer. Because she pitched forward in that moment, losing consciousness.

"Poison must work faster on a smaller body." Jaime murmured to himself, observing the girl. He should just leave her. Leave her to melt away in fever. Or he should kill her quickly, as he had promised. It had been the plan from the beginning, so why hadn't he already done it?

A Lannister always paid his debts. This phrase didn't just apply to vengeance. It meant paying off those who assisted you. And this girl had technically saved his life. If he saved hers, they would be even, at least as long as he took back what she stole from him.

He couldn't leave the girl to die or kill her. Not now.

Besides, she'd so inconsiderately passed out before she could answer his question about  _why_ she'd saved his life in the first place.

"Damn girl." Jaime muttered.

He collected the gold from her cloak and his dagger from the man's throat. He also collected her long knives and returned them to her belt. Then he threw the girl over the back of his horse, who had waited calmly for him during the entirety of the fight, not really paying any mind to how it might jostle the arrow in her shoulder. She was unconscious anyway.

If Maester Pycell could draw out the poison, his debt would be repayed and he'd never have to deal with the girl again. 

_I'll pay my debt to you, Nim the Nameless. Then we can part ways for good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lannisters always pay their debts. Jaime and Nim are no longer enemies but she's on her way to the red keep, where some more interesting developments are sure to occur. Until then, subscribe, review and all of that good stuff!


	7. Fever Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in a couple weeks. I'm going to try to get more regular with this fic. Enjoy!

Nim's feverish mind conjured up visions of blood. She wondered if it saw a need to do this because she was dying. Maybe her mind wanted to remind her that her death could have been a lot more gruesome than a simple poison. Maybe it merely wanted to welcome her into the unknown with splashes of red.

But maybe not. Because this was not the first time Nim had experienced such dreams.

For a girl with no past, she had never slept soundly. She thought that having no past ills to speak of, other than a healthy frustration that she had so few memories, would cure her of any nightmares. And yet that was the never the case.

She dreamed often of swords ringing. Of running down halls of stone, tripping over herself every time she tried to move faster. Of great throngs of people shouting around her but never being able to see what they were shouting about. She dreamed of mass executions and heads on pikes and battles with faceless people.

This time was no different. But the images came upon her with even more ferocity that usual, flashing so rapidly through her head that she felt dizzy… if you could feel dizzy in a dream. She was aware of her heart beating in her throat and her gut twisting into many unpleasant knots.

The throng of people returned to her mind and she tried to see what they were yelling at. She tried to climb up onto something to get a better look but her fingers couldn't quite grasp the stone and she kept slipping down. She felt a sense of urgency. A horrible need to see what was going on as the crowd grew louder and louder. They started throwing things. Their cries grew more animalistic.

" _Look away."_ A voice said.  _"Look away, boy_."

I'm not a boy, she thought in return, though she could not use her lips to say so.

A hand grabbed at her arm. In her fear she pushed away and started to run from the crowd. She no longer wanted to see what they were yelling at. She wanted to get away. Run as far as she could. She scrambled through the crowd, pushing past people, trying to get as far a way as she could.

Suddenly, she was no longer running on solid ground. In fact, her feet had taken her right off the edge of the cliff. She could still hear the sound of the ravenous crowd as she plunged toward rocks hundreds of feet away. Their roars and the sounds of swords clashing. And somewhere above her, a flock of birds streamed across the sky, singing a mournful song.

* * *

Nim woke gasping and reaching for her knives. She quickly became aware of three things. One, that she was still living. Two, that her knives were nowhere within her reach. And three, that someone else was in the room.

"I wouldn't get up at this moment, girl." The voice of an old man said.

Nim's head whipped around to see a man with a long grey beard and little to no hair. He was clothed in a maester's robes. A grand maester, in fact.

Nim was lying in a room with stone walls, lined with tables with more books and potions than she'd ever seen in her life. Of course she'd never been anywhere much nicer than the slums of King's Landing. But this was no room in the slums. From the looks of it, she had ended up in a castle.

How? She could have sworn that the King's Slayer said she was going to die. So why was she in a castle with a grand maester? Why had Jaime Lannister not seen to it that she died? How in all the seven hells could she still be alive?

"When… when did I get here? How?" she asked. Her throat was dry when she spoke and her head spun. She still felt sick.

"You were brought here by Ser Jaime Lannister," The grand maester said. He gave a sharp tug on her bandages. Bandages. He had bandaged  _her_ shoulder. The one that had been struck by the arrow. "I admit it confused me. But I… do not make a habit of questioning the noble house of Lannister."

_Noble house of Lannister. That's funny._ Nim looked from him to the bandage around her shoulder.  _And yet…_

"So… the Kingsla—I mean Ser Jaime… brought me here and told you to…"

"To heal you, yes." The grand maester nodded. His eyes moved around the room but never focused on her. He seemed to be an old man and senile, as if every word he spoke required too much thought on his part. "Of the poison in your arm. It worked quickly on you but you, ah, came to me in time. It seems as if the worst of it has passed."

"Why would he—" Nim started to straighten a bit more, but a wave of dizziness hit her and she had to lay back down.

"I still would avoid moving for another day. It does not seem your head can take it." The old man said. "But I do not think you will die."

"Well, excellent, very good." Nim blinked hard to clear her head. "But once I'm better, then what?" Perhaps the Kingslayer only brought her here to imprison her in the black cells, supposedly one of the worst dungeons in all of Westeros.

"By what he said, it seems that when you are healed, you are free to go about your business." The grand maester rose from his seat, moving at what seemed like an millimeter per minute. His back was stooped low. "But of course… perhaps he has other plans. I do not concern myself with these matters." He pointed at Nim with a gnarled finger. "None the less, I would not move. You will not get far and your arm has not yet… regained mobility."

Nim tested this theory and found her arm was still, in fact, numb. So she lay back down as she was told. "Fine then." She watched the man waddle out and she felt compelled to speak again. "Ah, you… have my thanks Grand Maester."

He merely inclined his head and shuffled away, shutting the door behind him.

Nim heard him lock the door but she couldn't bring herself to care. She couldn't move to go anywhere anyway.

Really she shouldn't even be alive. And yet Jaime Lannister had chosen to spare her and do more than that. He had gotten her treatment for the poison in her body. Was it because she had saved him?

Did Lannisters really stick so closely to their old phrase 'A Lannister always pays his debts"?

Either way, Nim was alive and grateful to be so. And yet she had landed herself in a den of vipers. The question was, how long could she stay here before she got bitten?

* * *

Jaime was on his way to see Cersei when he ran into her in the halls. The skin on her face was tight, as it usually was when she was irritated. Of course she had been irritated ever sense he returned from imprisonment, only rarely showing any hint of positive emotion. The negative feelings hovering around her were beginning to rub of Jaime.

"I was just coming to see you." Jaime said.

"And I you." Cersei said. "I hear you brought a slum rat to the castle."

My word traveled fast in this place. Cersei's network of spies was almost as impressive as that of Varys.

"I did." Jaime replied.

"And do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"I was unaware anything needed to be said." Jaime said. "Unless of course she's stolen any of your fine jewelry which, considering she is unconscious, would be quite a feat."

Though he wouldn't exactly put it past the girl. He was looking forward to seeing how many pockets she would pick before leaving the castle. She might get herself killed without Jaime's help and he had no intention of stopping her. He paid his debt already.

"She's a lowborn girl and you waltzed into a castle with her. Of course there's something that needs to be said." Cersei hissed through gritted teeth.

She seemed to be overreacting to this. It wasn't as if he'd brought a whore into her bedroom or a traitor into the court. Then again, it was Cersei. She overreacted to everything.

"Very well." Jaime said. "If you must know, the girl was involved with a scuffle with the brotherhood without banners. Somehow, we ended up facing nine of them. She took a poisoned arrow that was meant for me. So I paid my debt by bringing her to the grand maester. It's simple as that."

No need to mention the part about Nim stealing his valyrian steel knife and gold. That was really a minor detail.

"You owe the girl nothing. Why would you do that?" Cersei said.

"I believe I just mentioned I owe her my life." Jaime said. "A Lannister always pays his debts."

"Not to a slum rat."

"Oh, I must have missed the part of the saying in the books. 'A Lannister always pays his debts unless it's to lowborn girls'." Jaime said.

"Don't be glib with me, Jaime. I will not tolerate it right now." Cersei said.

"I apologize, I'm just baffled by your irritation over this girl." Jaime observed her. "I hope this isn't a matter of jealousy. Because if you saw the girl you would know she's as dirty and appealing as the rat you compare her to. So—"

"It is not a matter of jealousy." Cersei snapped at him. "I'm only conserned that your time as a prisoner has knocked the civilization out of you."

Jaime fell silent, feeling almost as if he had been slapped. "You speak as if I meant to be imprisoned, Cersei. As if I had a choice. As if I didn't try every day to escape."

"You took too long." She said icely.

The cold edge of her words chilled him and he was left not knowing what to say. Fortunately he didn't have to as a page boy approached them at that moment.

"Beg pardon my lord. My lady. But Lord Tywin requests Ser Jaime's presence in the Hand's Tower."

"Thank you." Jaime gave the boy of a nod and he went on his way. He turned back to look at Cersei who stared back at him, unrepentant.

"Go on then." She said. "I'm sure he is prepared to lecture you as well."

Jaime could have said a million things in retort but he didn't have the energy. Instead he turned and marched down the hallway, trying to forget Cersei's words.

Something had changed in her. And thought he could handle it. But it seemed as though her feeling toward him might have changed as well.

And he had no idea in all seven hells how to deal with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time there will be more Jaime and Nim banter. Also, Tywin enters the picture. And anyone who is following my other 'throw Arya in with the Lannisters' fic will know how much I love writing him. For now, review, subscribe and all of that! See you next time!


	8. Cup Bearer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is here. Along with Tywin's entrance. Enjoy!

Tywin Lannister had never been a particularly warm man, much less a loving father. Jaime didn't exactly expect a smile and an embrace when he entered the room. No one expected such things from the great head of the Lannister house. But maybe the man could at least pretend to be glad to see him after three years of imprisonment.

"You still look weak." Was Tywin's first comment. Not exactly a 'welcome home'.

"Well, I spent three years on the Northern army's scraps. It might take a bit before I'm back to my former beauty." Jaime said with a smirk. It was an expression that often graced his face to hide the sting of Tywin's comments. Even decades into adulthood, he itched for some show of affection. He didn't know how Tyrion managed to live in this family, given how much more Tywin hated him. Jaime was supposedly the golden son but you'd never know it by the way Tywin treated him.

He suspected three years of imprisonment might have dulled his golden status, like buried in the mud for too long.

"Hmm," Tywin said. "I imagine you're skills with the sword are rusty as well, after so little practice."

"I managed to kill six of the brotherhood just the other day." Jaime said. "I'd say I'm still exponentially better than everyone else." Nim crossed his mind but he decided not to mention her. Tywin had only just returned to King's landing. Perhaps he did not know about the girl.

"But you had help." Tywin said. "I hear a low born girl saved your skin."

Ah. Perhaps that was too much to hope for.

"How many people have told you that?" Jaime asked. "And how many versions of the story? Because if it came from Cersei, she has been a bit irritable of late and she might have made things seem worse than they actually were."

"Was anything about my statement incorrect?" Tywin asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Strictly speaking, no." Jaime said. "Someone saved my skin… and it was a lowborn girl."

"And you did bring her back to the keep?"

"A Lannsiter always pays his debts." Jaime said. "Though apparently I've been saying the phrase wrong. According to Cersei its 'A Lannister always pays his debts to people of noble birth and no one else'."

Tywin raised an eyebrow. "You're fighting with your sister." It was a statement not a question.

"What makes you say that?"

"I'm not blind or deaf." Tywin ran his fingers along the edge of his desk, as if inspecting the surface for dust. "And Cersei's emotions are always more obvious than she believes. When she came and talked to me, she was obviously angry with you."

"Yes. She is," Jaime said bitterly. "She's changed."

"We were at war. Change is inevitable." Tywin sat back in his chair. "I believe we were talking about the incident with the Brotherhood."

"Right." Jaime said. "There were ten men chasing after the girl because she had stolen some gold from them. It was ten against two. I killed six, she killed four. She killed one of the men just as he was about to take my life, took an arrow in the shoulder because of it. Simply put, after we slaughtered an encampment of the brotherhood, I brought her back to be treated for the poison." He shrugged. "But no one focuses on the fact that the forces I brought with me killed fifty members of the brotherhood in a few hours. Everyone is endlessly fascinated with the girl I brought back with me."

"I am not fascinated by it." Tywin said. "I merely wanted to hear what happened from your mouth so that I wouldn't be bothered by endless, contradicting stories." He waved his hand dismissively. "If she lives, what do you plan to do with her then?"

"Let her go. We don't need her in the castle. She's actually very irritating." Jaime said.

Tywin nodded, clasping his hands together, studying his knuckles intently. He was thinking about something. Planning something. Jaime could see it etched into the wrinkles on his forehead. The silence was so endless that Jaime half considered backing out of the room and leaving Tywin to ponder.

But at last, he looked up, breaking the silence. "I would like to meet this girl."

Jaime blinked. "What? Why?"

"Because she might know more about the brotherhood. Because I make it my business to know who my family brings into the castle because I am the Hand of the King." Tywin stood. "So, I will meet her."

"She might still be unconscious."

"And she might not be." Tywin said. Clearly, it was not open for negotiation.

"Alright." Jaime said. "If that's what you want."

Why his father didn't just send someone else to interrogate the girl was beyond him. There were many who could try to squeeze information out of her. Perhaps Tywin was just curious about the girl who had saved Jaime's life.

She was irritating, but Jaime had to admit that she was fascinating. It just amused him that even Tywin could give into curiosity every once and awhile.

* * *

Nim was locked in. It shouldn't have surprised her. As a thief, no one wanted her roaming freely around the castle. But she did not like being caged, and this place made her skin prickle. Instinct told her to flee.

Escape was made more difficult by her sluggishness, and her numb arm still trapped in a sling. She fumbled for something she could use to pry open the door. She checked the window to see if she could climb down the side of the building. But how far would she make it when she was still weak?

In the midst of searching for an escape she heard muffled voices and footsteps outside the door. She cursed under her breath and stumbled back to the table. It took all of the strength in her exhausted body to heave herself onto the table and her shoulder protested with angry spasms of pain. She managed to situate herself back on the table just moments before the door opened.

The Kingslayer entered first, followed by an older man who's face tugged at Nim's memory. He had a stern expression and radiated an aura of power. On his chest was a golden pin of a hand. The golden pin tugged at her memory as well.

"So, you are awake." Jaime said.

"Yes… ser." Nim said, adding the formality as an afterthought. "To what do I owe this visit?" She couldn't help but mimic the proper way of speaking. She'd always know how to speak properly, perhaps because she had once grown up close to a castle. She didn't know. She couldn't remember. But she sometimes pretended she was a long lost princess from a faraway land where women ruled instead of men. It was an appealing little fantasy.

"This is Lord Tywin Lannister. Hand of the King." The Kingslayer nodded at the man. Nim sat up a little straighter. The Hand of the king and head of the Lannister house? This was a dangerous man. She would have to be  _very_ careful here.

"My lord." She inclined her head slightly.

"My lord?" Tywin's eye brows rose. "You are not a commoner, are you girl?"

"I have been for as long as I can remember, my lord." Nim replied. "What makes you think I'm not?"

"Low born girls say m' lord." Tywin Lannister replied. He was quiet for a moment, studying Nim intently. She felt inclined to drop his gaze due to the intensity but, not wanting to be seen as weak, she lifted her chin and held his gaze.

At last he broke the silence. "I recognize you. You were my cup bearer at Harenhal some three years ago. Near the beginning of the war."

Nim's eyes widened. "You… you knew who I was?" She sat up a little straighter, ignoring how her head spun. "Do you know who I am? My real name? Did I ever tell you?"

"Your real name isn't Nim?" Jaime Lannister asked. He was looking between Tywin and Nim in confusion.

"No. It's the name I gave myself." Nim replied. "My memory is blank before three years ago. I don't remember anything." She looked back to Tywin. "If I was at Harrenhal three years ago… maybe the accident happened soon after that."

"I don't know your real name." Tywin said. "I never asked. I recall you were very quiet on anything about your identity. You tried to lie about where you were from once. But I know you were from the North."

"The North." Nim repeated. "I figured I might be. I have the look of the North." Her whole body buzzed with excitement, all except for her numb arm. "Did I tell you anything else, my lord?"

"Technically you told me that your father was a stone mason and your mother served a lady."

"What do you mean, technically?"

"I didn't believe you."

"Why not?" Nim blinked.

"Because you were far too well learned to be a stone mason's daughter." Tywin's mouth twitched. The smallest shadow of a smile. The Kingslayer's eyes widened as if he had just seen something of a miracle. Perhaps a smile from Tywin was an uncommon thing. "I can't tell you much about who you were. I found you as a prisoner, masquerading as a boy. That and what I just shared with you is all I know."

"It's something. It's more than I've known for three years." Nim whispered.

"Why would you take her on as a cup bearer?" Jaime said, finally managing words in his shock.

"She was more clever than most of my men and I enjoyed her company." Tywin said simply.

"Enjoyed her _company_?" Jaime seemed to think this was some unfathomable thing.

"Yes." Tywin replied.

Nim saw her chance here. Tywin thought she had done her job well as a cup bearer. He also had met her before she lost her memory. It was the only lead she had and she couldn't let it slip away.

She needed to find out who she was. She was desperate to find out.

"Do you require another cup bearer, my lord?" she asked. "If you do… I could fill the position."

Tywin seemed to think about it. "I have been without a cup bearer since returning to King's Landing. I suppose that memory loss won't hamper your work ethic."

"No, my lord. Memory loss has done nothing to me other than the obvious." Nim said.

"Very well," Tywin said, turning to look at Jaime. "I have other matters to attend to. We'll speak more later." Then, without another word, Tywin left the room.

Jaime Lannister slowly turned back to look at Nim. "My father  _likes_ you. Why on earth does he like you?"

"I'm very likable." Nim retorted. "Besides, how do you know he likes me?"

"He complimented you. He  _almost_ smiled. My father does not do that." Jaime said.

"Don't look at me as if this is my fault. I don't remember what I did to land in his good graces." Nim said.

"The question is, how long will it take you to fall out of favor?" Jaime said.

"I won't."

"Oh, you're not going to steal anything while you're here?"

"I didn't say that. I just won't steal from him." Nim said, lifting her chin.

"You're more trouble than you're worth." Jaime said.

"Yes? Well then why did you save me?" Nim asked.

"Why did you save me?" Jaime retorted.

They both fell silent. Neither quite seemed to know the answer. After a long time, Nim spoke first.

"I'm not sure. I acted on instinct. I didn't think I was going to take the arrow but I thought I could kill the man before he killed you." Nim shrugged. "I don't really know what I was thinking." She looked up at him. "And you?"

"I only wanted to pay my debt." Jaime said. "And as long as you don't steal anything more from me, I have no further quarrel with you." He stepped toward the door. "I'll leave you be. I would say goodbye but since you're my father's cup bearer now…"

"You'll be seeing me again." Nim smirked.

Jaime sighed. "Indeed." He opened the door, starting out but stepping back into the room as if another thought occurred to him. "One more thing, if you see a woman who looks like me. Blonde. The queen regent… I'd avoid her. I don't think she likes you."

"I'm making enemies and I haven't even left the room," Nim said.

"Its quite a talent you have." The Kingslayer grinned. And with that he left the room.

Nim knew she should get some rest but her mind was racing to fast for her to sleep now. She was one step closer to her identity. One step closer to finding out who she was. Perhaps she could find her family.

Lantos words echoed in her mind.  _"Nim, you have been given a gift, of sorts. You are able to see the world through unburdened eyes. You have no bias. No loyalty. You are simply yourself. If you had knowledge of your family… more would be expected of you."_

But she didn't care. She had to know.

Surely knowing was better than ignorance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Nim gets the first hint of who she really is. When will she eventually discover the truth? Review, subscribe etc and see you next time!


	9. Sentimental Value

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! In this chapter, Tyrion enters the scene, and we have more of Jaime's interactions with Nim. I'm enjoying uploading this fic in conjunction with 'A Wolf Amongst Lions'. They have some similarities in their premise but go in very different directions and focus on different relationships. But if you like how I write Arya with the Lannisters, you should check out that one too! Enjoy!

"You swear?"

"By the old and new gods."

"Fascinating. I don't believe it."

"Wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't witnessed it. But he  _almost_ smiled at the girl."

Two days after the incident with Tywin and Nim, Jaime was dining privately with Tyrion as he didn't want anyone's company except for his brother's. Whenever he felt particularly irritated, he only wanted to see Cersei or Tyrion and since Cersei kept on biting his head off and likely didn't want to hear anything about the low born girl he'd brought home, Tyrion was his only option.

"Must be a new revelation for father." Tyrion said, sipping his wine as he leaned back in his seat. "He's exercising facial expressions that have been dormant for years. I'll bet its exhausting for him."

"Maybe its slowing his mind." Jaime agreed. "And that's why he agreed to take the little thief on as a cup bearer."

"Does he know she's a thief?"

" _No_." Jaime said. "But I'm sure the girl had sticky fingers before she lost her memory as well. Surely she must have stolen something from him."

"Maybe not. Memories have a way of effecting people's behavior." Tyrion said. "Imagine if we erased Cersei's memory of my birth—"

"She'd still loathe you."

Tyrion set down his wine glass, pretending to look offended. "Why? I'm such a charming individual."

Jaime grinned. His brother always managed to make him smile, even in a state of enormous irritation. In return, Jaime was the only member of their family to not hate him. It was a decent enough trade.

"Cersei loathes most things these days." Tyrion said. "I'd think a loss of memory would do her some good. She's getting more and more hateful with every passing moment."

"I've noticed." Jaime muttered.

"My, is she angry with you too? No one is safe." Tyrion sighed.

"Cersei has been angry with me many times before." Jaime said. "But never for long. This seems different. She's distant."

"You were distant for three years." Tyrion shrugged.

Jaime glared at him. "Not by choice."

"I didn't say it was by choice, but its true." Tyrion said. "And it doesn't matter to Cersei whether you had a choice or not. She doesn't think about these things. Ambiguity is so often lost on her. I would know." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Anyhow, what is she specifically mad at you about?"

"Bringing the girl back." Jaime said. "She seems to think that, because the girl was from the slums, I owed her nothing."

"Ah. A classic explanation." Tyrion said. "Won't she be happy to hear that father has made the girl his cup bearer."

"I'd rather not be in the castle when that happens."

"Nor would I." Tyrion said. "But knowing our father he took this girl as his cup bearer for a reason."

"What reason?" Jaime asked.

"You said he pointed out her voice. She speaks like a noble. Its possible he suspects she belongs to some noble house. Maybe he intends to figure out which one."

"He thought he was from the north." Jaime remembered.

"Exactly, and right now, the north is still where father is making his power play. He's killed Robb Stark—or excuse me, Walder Frey has—but he doesn't have a claim to the North." Tyrion shook his head. "He planned to use Sansa Stark but she fled the city during the battle of the black water. They haven't located her yet. The next oldest is Arya Stark but no one has seen her for years. She's probably dead. Not to mention there are still two male heirs to Winterfell. Bran and Rickon Stark. They're not dead as was suspected. Roose Bolton is hunting them as well as trying to find Sansa. We may have won the war, but the North is not secure yet." He leaned forward. "And even if we do find Sansa Stark, the likelihood that Joffery will let her keep her head is exceedingly low."

"The boy is a loose cannon." Jaime murmured. "And so if the girl is the daughter of a northern noble family, what will father do?"

"Use her to turn more northerners to his side of course. Split the north up. Have them kill each other or dishearten them enough to swear loyalty to the crown." Tyrion shrugged. "Its not as helpful as having control of the heir of Winterfell, but its something and that's all we have right now."

It made sense of course. Jaime had always had a mind for the battlefield but politics was never his strong point. Not like his father. He was a master at sword play but the life of a schemer in kings landing had never really appealed to him like it did to the rest of the family. He was not power hungry. He was content with what he had. "Political life suits you brother." He said raising his glass.

"You should have seen me with a golden hand on my chest." Tyrion's smile was lined with melancholy. Since Tywin had become hand of the king, Jaime knew Tyrion had lost much of his influence. It had to be hard for him, to get one taste of glory before falling back down to where he was. At least he was still on the council.

"I'm sure it was magnificent." Jaime said. "You were always more suited to King's Landing than I was. Always more suited to father's standards."

"Suited to father's standards? When is the last time our lord father ever did anything less than loathe me?" Tyrion asked.

"He gave you a position of power." Jaime reminded. "And even if he hates you, you're a lot more like him than Cersei and I. Cersei's not as smart as she think she is… and I just don't care for politics." He shrugged. "I look like a model son, but I'm still a disappointment to him. Especially after three years of imprisonment. He likes a damn slum rat better than he likes me."

"You're home now." Tyrion said seriously. "He'll put you to good use. You'll have a chance to redeem yourself." He shifted. "I had my chance. And every day this place seems more intolerable. Joffery seems closer to taking my head by the day."

"Father would never allow that. If he was going to kill you, he would have done it long ago."

"Father can only keep him on a leash for so long." Tyrion said. "Joffery fears him now but it won't last." He sighed. "No… this is only going to get worse. It will transform into more of a hell hole, one that I won't easily survive."

"You'll be fine."

"I've always admired your confidence in me." Tyrion said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I wish I had some."

"Don't lie, brother." Jaime stood. "You've always thought highly of yourself. Or your mind at least."

"I can't deny that." Tyrion shrugged. "Where are you going?"

"To practice with my sword." Jaime said. "I'm still rusty. And if fighting is the one thing I'm good at, I can't afford to be lazy."

"I'll practice the wine drinking then." Tyrion said, pouring himself another goblet. "To keep my skills sharp."

"Excellent." Jaime said. "I wish you well."

* * *

Nim wanted her long knives back. Even if the job she had placed herself in required no combat, she felt naked without her weapons. They were special to her. A gift from Lantos. What would he say to her if he found her in this den of lions without a weapon?

Well, she wasn't  _completely_ without a weapon. She had procured a knife from a drunk guard who was very bad at watching his back. Now that she was donned in clothes suiting a cup bearer, no one questioned her place. They were boy's clothes as cup bearers were traditionally male, but also because Nim refused anything feminine.

She couldn't fully move her arm yet, which was annoying but she was able to serve Tywin when he needed her. She easily fetched him wine or water and, when he needed them, books. Some of these things were heavy with just one arm but Nim was strong for her size, and equally stubborn. She dragged a bucket of water all the way up to the tower of the king even if she had to stop several times for a break. She wouldn't get on Lord Tywin's bad side. She needed him to find out who she was.

She didn't press the issue of her knives with Tywin. She didn't want to seem hostile. But even when a bit of hostility did slip into her tone, he didn't seem to mind. He asked her questions about the north and she seemed rather familiar with many of the houses, sigils and lords. But there was nothing that pointed to who she was.

About a week after her employment, her arm was nearing its full strength and was out of the sling. And more than ever, her fingers itched for her long knives. So it was her lucky day when she ran into the Kingslayer. He had brought her here. Surely he knew where her knives had ended up.

And she had no quarrel with pressing the issue with him.

"Ser Jaime." She said, stepping into his path. She'd use the formal address but in her mind, she still saw him as Kingslayer. "I have a question."

"Brilliant. And just when I was having a good day." Jaime replied.

"I won't trouble you long." Nim said with icy sweetness. Her words retained a polite tone but a reminder of her skills laced her words. She was still dangerous and he should remember that. "I was just wondering where weapons are stored in this place. It's a bit of a maze."

"Why would I give you access to any deadly objects?" The Kingslayer raised an eyebrow. "That seems like a terrible idea to me. Bad enough that you have hands to slip into pockets."

"I need hands if I'm to serve your father." Nim retorted. "And I didn't intend on stealing any weapons. Only taking back what was mine." She crossed her arms. "The long knives, you must have brought them here with you. Where did they go? I want them back."

"To kill who?"

"I'm not going to  _kill_ anyone. I'm not a murderer." Nim snapped. "If I was, you'd be dead, Kingslayer."

Jaime's hand rested on his sword and Nim paused, closing her mouth. "Careful girl. You're not in the woods anymore. You're in a castle. And this is where I do best. I hold enough authority here to get you killed."

"Are you so weak to insults?"

"I wouldn't test me, lets put it that way." Jaime's hand slipped from the hilt of his sword. Nim followed the movement with her eyes before looking back at him.

"I don't want to kill anyone. I have no grudges here. Girls without memories can't have grudges or reason to kill. But those blades are special to me. They were a gift from my master." Nim gritted her teeth together and had to force the next words from her throat. "Please. If you know where they are… tell me."

Jaime studied her for a long time before he sighed. "Make me regret this and I swear you'll be sorry." He motioned with his hand. "This way."

"Thank you." Nim said, following after him.

"Are you sure my lord father will not miss you while you're gone?" Jaime asked as they walked down the halls. Nim made sure to memorize the route so she'd know where to go.

"Lord Tywin prefers to be alone when he writes letters." Nim said. "He lets me have that time to do as I please. He will not miss me. As long as I return within the hour."

"What did you do to make him think so highly of you?" Jaime wondered aloud.

"Your guess is as good as mine. I can't remember a thing. I really can't." Nim said.

"Perhaps your personality was more agreeable with your memories."

"I find my personality perfectly agreeable. Maybe yours is the problem."

"You have too sharp a tongue for a low born girl."

They climbed a long, spiraling stair case. Nim was surprised when they at last reached a door and the man opened it to reveal a large bedroom. She had expected be led to a barracks. "What's this?" she asked warily.

"My quarters. I still had your weapons on me when I returned. They didn't seem suitable for any normal knight. Not right for the barracks. So I put them in here and forgot to do anything else with them." Jaime shrugged. "I think I considered having them melted down."

" _Then_ I would have considered becoming a murderer." Nim said flatly.

"Really." Jaime moved across the room to a closet. He opened it, looking through it. "You place so much worth on two hunks of steel?"

"Like I said, they were a gift." Nim said.

"Sentimentality is wasted on a weapon." Jaime said. "No matter how special, it still ends up in a man's throat at the end of the day, covered in blood." He turned, Nim's long knives in hand. They were unharmed. "All weapons kill."

"Maybe so." Nim said. "But if you'd like a more practical reason, these long knives are of an atypical design and they are made for someone my size. It would be difficult to find more. And I'm used to working with them."

"Fair enough." Jaime passed the weapons over to her. "From this point on, they're your responsibility. You best keep them hidden. If another servant finds them, or anyone, you'll be in trouble. Cub bearers aren't meant to carry swords."

"I can hide them." Nim said evenly. "Though I don't suppose…" she trailed off.

"You don't suppose what?" Jaime asked, raising an eyebrow.

"In my free time, when I have it, I'd like to be able to practice. But I need a safe place. Somewhere discreet where I can fight. I wouldn't want to draw attention. I don't suppose you know of a place." Nim said.

Jaime shrugged. "If I know of the place, its not particularly secret. You'll have to find your own spot, girl."

"Right." Nim sighed. "I guess I shouldn't have counted on you to be  _too_ helpful."

"Don't make me regret being helpful at all."

Nim grinned slightly. "Thanks for giving them back to me anyway. I promise they won't end up in your back. Unless you try to kill me."

"Make sure they don't end up in anyone else's back either."

"I'll make an effort." She backed out of his room. "I should return to Lord Tywin and make sure he does not require anything."

With these words she turned and hurried down the steps. At the very least Jaime Lannister could be reasoned with and he didn't take as much offense to her jabs as some nobles might.

He was one of the less dangerous of the vipers in this den, and that was a bit of a discouraging thought.

Nim was very glad to have her weapons back indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fortunately, Nim is armed again, and continues her quest to find out who she really is. She's probably not going to like it when she gets her memories back. But we'll just have to see :) Review, subscribe etc. Until next time, happy reading!


	10. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back. This chapter has quite a bit of Jaime and Nim/Arya banter, which is my favorite to write. Not to mention some advancing of the plot. Enjoy!

The next days passed uneventfully. Nim served Tywin when he so required it, standing close unless he dismissed her. Being a thoroughly organized man, his schedule was often the same, and it didn't take Nim long to learn it. The longest time when she was not required was during his letter writing. She spent this time wandering the grounds of the castle, always keeping out of sight, reading any book she could find, or practicing with her blades.

It took her a week to scout out a proper place to practice. Almost everywhere in the keep had eyes. But eventually, she found a rocky outcrop overlooking the sea. It was meant to be an outlook of some kind but the stone had been worn away to ruin and no one had bothered with repairs. And the rock behind it jutted up far enough to form a proper wall. Unless someone made it their business to come down to this isolated place, Nim would not be caught.

She didn't intend on being loud anyway. Practice didn't make much noise without the clash of steel on steel.

She slipped through her practices each day much like she slipped through those weeks. It became a routine. She could hear Lantos' voice in her head, warning her against any sort of routine. Lantos had always trained her to expect the unexpected.

' _Routine makes people lazy. They come to expect too much and they don't expect a sword headed right for their back.'_

It was true enough. So Nim tried not to settle too much into a routine. She often times went wandering about the castle, searching for hidden memories. She didn't find anything specific. Nothing that gave her any hints to her identity.

But this place was familiar. Emotions clung to the walls and many of them of the negative sort. Though this place was beautiful, a sense of dread latched itself onto her heart as she moved about. She felt the need to run. To escape.

But from what? She had nothing to fear here. Not yet anyway.

Had she once had something to fear from this place? Or was it another castle with high stone walls that this place called to memory? She did not know.

Her feelings of anxiety were over powered only by her greed and desire for her past self. It grew more potent by the day, driving her restlessly about the halls as if she was hunting for something in particular. It became like an itch in the back of her mind, always present and always noticeable.

So she practiced more. She read more. She tried to distract herself and all the while prayed to the old gods and the new and to 'Death' who Lantos claimed was the true god. She prayed for her past self to return to her.

She thought very little of the Kingslayer. In fact, she saw nothing of him until one day three weeks after she reacquired her weapons, Tywin sent her away earlier than usual. He had been reading an urgent letter that made his forehead crease and his frown deepen.

"I will not need you for the rest of the day, girl. I have business to attend to." Tywin said, standing from his desk. "Bring me another full pitcher of water then go about your own business."

"Yes, my lord." Nim nodded her head and left without another word. Though she burned with curiosity at Tywin's severe expression, she knew better than to poke her head to far into political affairs. Otherwise she'd only get it bitten off.

She went down to her secret place that day and began running through her drills, putting more energy into them than usual to stave off her thoughts of the letter Tywin had read. She didn't even know why it should concern her. It was probably only a boring dissertation of some lady's match with a lord and how that effected some alliance of some sort.

Probably.

She spun around, stabbing one long knife swiftly through the air, nearly driving it right into the hard stone wall. The tip brushed the stone close enough to sheer off some dust.

"Tell me, is your invisible opponent winning or losing?" the voice asked from above her.

Nim jumped back about three feet, her weapons at the ready but she relaxed when she saw it was only Jaime Lannister. She had no fear of him discovering her practice. After all, he had given her the long knives back.

"They're putting up an admirable fight." She responded, lifting her chin high. "Giving me quite a bit of trouble."

"Really?" the Kingslayer raised his eyebrows. "So you don't make your invisible opponents crumble at your feet?"

"It wouldn't be good practice if they were easy." Nim shot back.

The man's mouth quirked. "True enough." He descended down the narrow steps, the only path that led to this place. They were old and crumbled and Nim half expected them to buckle under the Kingslayer's weight. They did not and he made it safely onto level ground. "You found a good spot to stay hidden. I've heard no talk of your practices around the keep which is impressive. There are so many spies here."

"Maybe I'm inconsequential to all of them."

"That probably has something to do with it." Jaime conceded. "Sadly I am not. I've been trying to find a place that allows for secrecy for some time. I finally find one that's out of the way and its occupied."

Nim raised an eyebrow. "And why do  _you_ need a place of secrecy?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret would it?" Jaime said.

"Oh yes, very true." Nim nodded. "I'll just scamper back to the castle and tell everyone Ser Jaime Lannister's important secret. I'm sure the king himself will give me an audience." She rolled her eyes. "You act as if anything I say or witness is of consequence. It's not. That's why I'm able to practice in secret and move around the keep without anyone giving me a second thought. I'm nothing to these people. So," she sat down on a piece of stone that might have been a bench at one point. "Since you have interrupted my practice time, perhaps you'd like to tell me your secret."

"You're very annoying." Jaime replied. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Yes. My master used to tell me that every single day. Now, you've taken up the mantle," Nim said.

"Glad to." The Kingslayer paced to the other side of the outlook, looking out at the sea. "Simply put, three years in a northern prison with not enough to eat has rusted my skills. You've probably noticed." He glanced at her. "Because if my skills were at their fullest you would be dead."

"I have noticed my continued state of living." Nim nodded, resting her chin on her hand. "Go on."

"I'm a member of the Kingsguard. I'm expected to be at my full skill. The moment anyone suspects I am not, its trouble for me." He shrugged. "And the story about 'Jaime Lannister being assisted in a fight by a slum rat' has already spread throughout the keep. If I'm seen practicing more than usual, people might suspect. If I fight any of the other knights as practice, they might recognize my weakness. So I need to practice in secret." He drew his sword, turning it in his hand. "Get used to holding my sword again so that I don't risk near death."

"That would be ideal." Nim said. "So you planned on practicing alone."

"Can't very well trust anyone else to practice with me and keep it a secret." Jaime said.

"True." Nim stood, wandering over to the rock wall, tracing her fingers along the stone. "I thought the same thing about my own practice. I've run drills, but its just not the same without someone to fight."

"Its not the same," Jaime agreed, countering her movement, pacing back the other direction. "Hard to remedy that though, isn't it? With everyone being so untrustworthy."

"It is difficult." Nim nodded, continuing on her path around the outlook. Almost unconsciously, they were circling each other. Like predator and prey sizing each other up.

No. Not prey. Neither Nim nor Jaime fit the description of 'prey'. They were both predators. Jaime a lion and Nim something smaller. A fox perhaps. Or a wolf.

There was a long pause in which they both stopped moving and simply observed each other in silence. Neither moved. They barely even breathed.

Then Nim lunged for him, driving one of her long knives forward. It was a strike only slightly to the right, not meant to kill him if he couldn't block it. But he did, parrying easily and kicking out at Nim's legs. She jumped back, landing steadily, sweeping her arms out to her sides and brandishing her weapons. They caught in the light at the same time it caught her smile.

"Perhaps if we happen to both practice here, our swords might slip into each other's?"

"What makes you think I trust you anymore than anyone else here?" Jaime asked. "You did, after all, steal from me."

"Yes." Nim nodded. She lunged forward again, slashing twice at his legs. The Kingslayer blocked both and spun, moving to elbow Nim in the face. She ducked under the blow and danced out of reach of his sword again. "But I already  _know_ you're rusty because I've fought you twice. I've won once. Not the best rate for one of the 'greatest swordsmen in Westeros' wouldn't you say?"

"Maybe not." Jaime swiped out with his sword, the tip passing close to her stomach. But Nim skittered away just in time. "And you think you're skilled enough to spar with said greatest swordsman in Westeros."

" _One of_ ," Nim corrected. "And of course I do. I already have, haven't I?"

She struck out and Jaime parried, sliding his sword up her knife in the same instant. He trapped her arm in his and they ended up face to face, their weapons crossed.

"Perhaps you got lucky." Jaime said.

"I did." Nim agreed. "When I saved your life, it was a lucky shot."

She released her trapped blade, allowing her to wiggle out of his hold as her knife clattered to the ground. She backed out of his range, holding up her remaining weapon. "I see no reason for us not to trust each other, Lannister. We both had the chance to let the other die. Or to kill each other. And we never took advantage of it." She shrugged. "Of course, if you fear me so much, there is no need to fight, but you'll still have to pick another place to practice."

Jaime didn't say anything for a long time. He regarded her in silence as if trying to riddle through her intentions. Then, slowly, he bent down and picked up her fallen long knife. "I wouldn't want to surrender such a perfect location." He tossed the weapon to her. Nim caught it easily by the hilt. "So we might just have to continue this dance."

"We might just." Nim grinned, raising her knives. "But don't worry, ser Jaime. Your secret is safe with me."

* * *

This arrangement with the girl was advantageous to both Nim and Jaime. Though she was not the most agreeable of company, Jaime knew her opinion would have no weight with anyone that mattered. And she was skilled enough to offer him some challenge. She was not the size of most of his opponents but fighting her would be an effective test of his blind spots.

At the very least, this would all be in secret.

"There you are, brother." Jaime turned to see Tyrion walking down the hall toward him. "Just in time to walk with me to see our father."

"Why?" Jaime asked.

"Urgent news, or so he says." Tyrion said. "Whatever the case, its urgent enough that he has chosen not to tell the king. Most likely because he doesn't trust him with this information."

"Shocking. So what do you think it is?"

"Something to deal with the North." Tyrion said grimly. "Like most things are these days."

They walked together to their father's tower. When they reached his room, Cersei was already there, sitting before him. She did not make eye contact with Jaime when he walked in. So instead of trying to catch her eye, he looked at their father.

"What's happened? Something serious I hear."

"Yes." Tywin tossed a letter on the desk in front of them. "Roose Bolton has found Sansa Stark."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa Stark is found. That's unfortunate for her, but it does keep our story moving. Tune in next time for more interesting Jaime and Nim conversations. And, until then, review, subscribe, etc!


	11. For Want of Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a slightly less bantery discussion between Jaime and Nim. Because character development. And of course, the Lannister family drama we always love. Enjoy!

The news about Sansa Stark changed things. Jaime knew that well enough. All of the Starks were either missing or dead, and the north, for that reason, was volatile. But Roose Bolton had found Sansa again. The letter said it took seven men to bring down the Hound, who was travelling with her, but now the eldest Stark child was headed south again. The key to the north, nearly in their grasp again.

"We need Sansa Stark." Tywin said. "And we need her alive so that she can provide an heir to Winterfell. We need Bran and Rickon Stark dead as well. But having the heir of Winterfell in our family will put us in a better position to quell the chaos in the North."

"This presents us with a problem though, doesn't it?" Tyrion said. "Since Joffery will remove the Stark girl's head the moment she is returned here."

"She's a treasonous little wench." Cersei said tightly. "Running off with the Hound. She likely isn't a maid anymore. She ought to be killed."

"Did you not here me?" Tywin said tightly. "She is our  _last_ key to the north. Unless one of you plans on conjuring Arya Stark from her grave in a ditch somewhere."

"Arya was not Joffery's betrothed. Sansa dealt him a grave personal offense when she ran." Cersei said.

"Yes, because the boy cared so much for Sansa." Tyrion retorted.

"I'm aware she's our last key, but what are we to do?" Cersei continued on as if she hadn't heard him. "Joffery won't allow her to live, no matter how strategic it is." She shook her head. "I can't control him. I've tried. It didn't do any good when I begged him not to cut of Ned Stark's head and it won't do any good now."

"You put a crown on his head before it was his." Tywin said. "And a leash won't fit over it now." Cersei didn't flinch at his words, except with her eye. Cersei had always been so adept at appearing strong when she didn't feel that way. It had aided her with Robert. But it could not aid her with Joffery, the monster king, nor could it aid her with their ever unimpressed father. "Sansa will live. I will see to it that she does."

"Even if the girl does live, what is to be her fate, as key to the north?" Jaime spoke up for the first time. "Margaery Tyrell is now promised to Joffery. How do we bring the North into our hold without casting the Tyrell's aside?"

"We won't. Sansa Stark will marry a Lannister." Tywin said. "And bear a Lannister's children." Then his eyes fell on Tyrion. Jaime turned in time to see his brother's face fall as the realization hit him.

"You can't mean that." Tyrion said slowly.

"Have you ever known me as one to joke?"

"She's a child."

"Not anymore. She must be nineteen by now," Cersei said. A smile had grown across her face, a typical expression whenever she saw the misery of her little brother. "You should be happy Tyrion. At least this one is suited to you. She's a traitor but she's not a whore."

Tyrion glared at her viciously.

"Wedding her will give us a claim to the North and the power to finally quell these rebellions and bring the kingdoms under our wing." Tywin said. "You will do your duty."

"Haven't you always wanted to make the family proud, little brother?" Cersei sneered. "This is your chance. To do what is best for the family."

"Your chance as well." Tywin said.

Cersei looked up at him, her smile dropping slightly. "Yes, I will try to convince Joffery to spare the girl when she arrives but—"

"I don't mean that." Tywin said. "I've brokered a marriage between you and Loras Tyrell. You will wed him. Tyrion secures the North. You secure the Reach."

Jaime's eyes widened. Tywin intended to marry Cersei off again? Ship her off to another prison of a union? He took a step forward. "Father—"

"I will not." Cersei said. "I am the queen regent. Not some  _brood maid_."

"You're my daughter!" Tywin snapped and Cersei fell silent. "And you will do as you are told. It is your duty to this family. And I will not have you all continue to disgrace the name of Lannister. We will put an end to the disgusting rumor about you and Jaime once and for all."

Jaime wanted to say something to protest. Something better than his real reason for not wanting this match. He didn't want Cersei to be separated from him when he'd only just found her again. She was angry with him, yes, but he still loved her. He could not be separated from her again.

But his father would not accept this answer.

Cersei rose to her feet, storming from the tower, her chin held high. Jaime could see glassiness in her eyes. She was being sold off again. It had killed her the first time and it would kill her again.

Tyrion rose as well, meeting his brother's eye as he went to leave. His footsteps were heavy. Jaime started to follow him but Tywin stopped him.

"Not you, Jaime. Stay."

Jaime turned back to look at him, his jaw tight. Ah yes, his father had not bestowed upon him a punishment. But he couldn't punish him with betrothal. He was a King's Guard.

"Do not think you are immune from this." Tywin said. "Someday I may need to make a match for you."

"It would break my vows." Jaime said. "You wish for me to forsake my honor again? Give the world more reason to despise my name?"

"There is a way to release you from them." Tywin said.

"And you think that heals the break?" Jaime asked, stepping forward.

"If it helps the family, you must be willing to forsake a hundred vows. I thought you learned that when you killed the mad king." Jaime almost flinched but he held strong. How pathetic that his father could still intimidate him after all these years. "You were my shame for three years when you were prisoner to the North."

Shame. Not his worry. His shame. His father was such a warm man.

"But now you're back." Tywin said. "And you must be willing to do anything to preserve the family. Not yourself. The family. Do you understand?"

There was a long silence as Jaime thought. Was he? Was he willing to protect the family name. He had for so long wanted to make his father proud. But he lacked the ambition and the mind. Tyrion had the mind and the ambition. Cersei certainly had the ambition. But Jaime… he had never wanted to inherit Casterly Rock or anything of the like. He had never wanted a family to carry on.

And yet… there was still a pull to be something to his family. To be something to his father.

"I understand," Jaime said after a long pause. "But I won't break my vows unless you give me a very good reason."

"I will," Tywin agreed, sitting down again. "You may go."

Jaime left the tower with a bitter taste on his tongue, unable to shake the feeling that he would soon regret such a promise.

* * *

Nim clung desperately to the slightest shadows of memories. Whenever something tugged at the blank space in her mind, she followed where it led without question. And this time, it led to a room. It was a large room, completely stone from floor to ceiling, and very sparsely decorated. One wall was open to the air, leading out onto a balcony. The sun streamed through the opening, casting the room in late afternoon shadows.

She felt as if she had been here before. As if her feet had brushed across these stones. This room filled her with a sense of excitement, exhilaration. And fear. This entire keep seemed to inspire fear in her on some occasions.

Almost unconsciously, Nim drew one of her long knives, grasping it in hand and pointing it in front of her. She shuffled forward, then back, engaging an invisible opponent. Slashing, ducking and dodging to avoid this opponent. But they felt so much more tangible here. Not so invisible.

_What do we say to the god of death?_

Nim stopped in mid stab, a sudden burst of terror shooting through her. And at the exact moment the blood in her ears started to sing, she heard a noise behind her.

She whirled around, blade extended but the sharp edge caught on the broad side of a much larger sword.

"You should be careful about practicing in the keep." The Kingslayer said. "Someone could easily follow you."

"Like you, I suppose." Nim said snidely, taking a deep breath to calm herself. "I couldn't help it. I had to come here." She took a step back, her long knife sliding off Jaime's sword with metallic  _swish_.

"Why's that? It's only a room." Jaime said. "A boring room at that."

"It felt familiar." Nim replied. "And familiar is… rare for me. I have to follow it when I can." She looked around the room, stepping forward into a square of sunlight. "It's the only way I keep sane. Keep the hope of finding my memory again."

"Why would you want a memory?" Jaime asked.

Nim spun to glare at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I say. What makes you think that having a memory will make things better?" Jaime stepped toward the door, dragging his sword tip lightly along the stones. "It's a memory but its also a family, often an irritating one. With memory come obligations. Responsibilities. There are regrets. Troubles." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "The past is quite a burden to bear."

"But its my memory. Its mine. It makes me who I am." Nim said. "Nim is Nameless. She is nothing. She has no one. Memory would give me something. Make me feel like less of a ghost."

"It would make it harder for you to stay unnoticed. Life wouldn't be so quiet anymore."

"I'd know where to find my family."

"And then you would be bound by their expectations. And reminded of all the times you failed them."

"I'd have my real name."

"Names can be such a pain." Jaime shook his hand. "Everyone creates an identity for you built soely on your name. Lannister. Kingslayer." He spit out the words. "Nim the Nameless? Nothing to create an identity off of." He looked at her. "So many people wish for a chance to erase everything. To start over with nothing weighing them down. Maybe that's why you're so quick, girl, you have no weight."

"Having something, anything, is better than nothing." Nim muttered.

"Nothing is better than some things." Jaime disagreed.

"Nothing isn't better than anything." Nim looked him the eye. "It's just nothing."

Jaime's eyebrows rose and for a long time he didn't say anything. Nim held his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away. Though they were friendlier with each other now, she would not show weakness.

At last Jaime spoke. "So all of this—trapping yourself in a den of dangerous vipers—is for want of your memories."

"Yes." She said.

"You are a strange girl Nim the Nameless."

"Perhaps." Nim slid her long knife back into its sheath and started from the room. She paused just before she passed Jaime. "But when you lose everything. When you're left with nothing… then you can talk to me about what it feels like."

With that she left the room. She didn't expect him or anyone to understand. Maybe she had a life that would be better to forget. But it didn't matter. Because until she knew, an unsuitable curiosity would consume her. Torture her.

For want of a memory, she would brave this den of vipers and lions alike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nim is starting have flashes of her memory. What will be discovered first? Her name or her memories. Review, subscribe etc to find out!


	12. Plenty of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I let time get away from me and forgot to update this fic. Quite a lot of fun conversations in this chapter. Its mostly from Jaime's perspective but there is still some Nim/Arya. Enjoy!

The next week was miserable for Jaime. Cersei, who had been angry at him before, now outright refused to see him. Whenever she did speak to him, she simply told him to kill Ser Loras or change father's mind about the match. When he told her that he couldn't do either, she refused to say another word.

Jaime knew this was hurting her, and when Cersei hurt, she made sure everyone else around her suffered too. So he took to avoiding her after the first few days.

He practiced often with his sword, sometimes with Nim and sometimes not. His blade grew more familiar in his hand by the day and he felt his body returning to its old strength. But he couldn't practice every hour of the day and lately that was the only thing that seemed to make the keep less depressing. He turned one direction and found a small council meeting with his vile son speaking of his plans to torture more innocents. He turned in another and he found his sister prowling the halls, scheming on how best to wriggle out of this match. He turned forward and found the always stern look of his never impressed father.

He turned back and he faced the memories of his long imprisonment in the north.

He envied Nim the Nameless who could look back and see nothing. She had no past stalking her. She had no expectations. Why did she desire them so badly? She was a fool who thought him a fool for wanting a fresh start.

" _Nothing isn't better than anything. It's just nothing."_

Maybe she was right. Jaime supposed he would never know.

Tyrion was the only one he really felt comfortable with now and days but even he had gotten depressing since their father's orders. He spoke little when they were together and Jaime got the feeling he was hiding something. But whenever he pressed the matter, Tyrion managed to change the subject.

Then Sansa Stark arrived in King's Landing, a prisoner. She was thrown in one of the black cells and would face the king the next day.

She would be lucky if Tywin managed to convince Joffery to spare her. And yet, she would also be very unlucky. Soon, she would become a member of a family she rightfully hated.

Jaime went to Tyrion's quarters to give him the news. He found Varys there, speaking with his brother in a hushed tone.

"Lord Varys." Jaime nodded. "What are you doing here?"

"Only informing Lord Tyrion that Sansa Stark has arrived." Varys said. "Perhaps you came to tell him the same?"

"I did." Jaime said, looking around the room. It seemed emptier than usual. There were not so many books or belongings or pitchers of wine. "If I might… have a moment with my brother?"

"Of course." Varys bowed his head and slipped from the room.

"You think sending Varys away will do much good?" Tyrion asked with a forced smile. "You know he has ears everywhere." He gestured to the window. "Even the curtains are suspect."

"Are you drunk?" Jaime asked.

"Only a bit. I've been worse." Tyrion said. "My head is clear enough to function through the rest of this day."

"You'll need your head to function tomorrow, as well." Jaime said. "When the Stark girl comes before the king."

"Oh yes, so I've heard." Tyrion said. He moved a pile of books into a trunk at the foot of his bed. "I'll try to keep my head for that. Assuming she keeps hers which, despite father's protests, I think is highly unlikely."

"Are you going somewhere?" Jaime asked.

"Yes, I'm moving rooms. Apparently this particular room is suitable for a bachelor but not a man betrothed." Tyrion said. But he had a strange look on his face. Jaime couldn't put a name to it, but he had never seen his brother look quite so torn. Was it really over having to marry this girl? "Such a hassle."

"Are you alright?" Jaime asked.

"No not really." Tyrion said. "There's no real reason I should be. Ever since the Battle of Blackwater, father has stuffed me further down into my place. A box too small even for me. And now he wants to unite me with a girl who despises our family. I don't know what he'll do if she dies. Maybe he'll wed me to the bones of Arya Stark."

"It's not as if you can change father's mind." Jaime said. "If you could, Cersei would have found a way."

"You're right. Father always gets what he wants and we're always too afraid to take it from him." Tyrion said. "Nothing to do as long as we're here, under his rule." He sighed. "You know, when I was Hand of the King, I enjoyed life. There was no one hovering above me, looking down in disapproval. Except for Joffery, but he hardly counts." He shook his head. "My life was in danger every day and yet I was happier then than I had been in years. Now I realize… I'll never get a taste of that again."

"Maybe one day." Jaime said.

"Your optimism is appreciated, if not believed." Tyrion said. "You've always been the only one in this family who can stand me. I think you're the only one that hasn't wished me dead. I'll always appreciate that."

"There's still plenty of time for you to make me hate you." Jaime reminded him.

"Yes." Tyrion said. "There is." He was silent for a long while, that strange look on his face again. He was hiding something. Jaime didn't know what but it was something of importance. "I have much to pack." He said. "We'll speak… later."

"I can help you with these things." Jaime said.

"No." Tyrion said, patting him on the back. "I'll do this without your help, big brother."

"Suit yourself." Jaime replied, then he left. There was a lot more he wanted to say as the door closed behind him, but he swallowed the words and resolved to speak them later.

They had plenty of time.

* * *

Nim was on her way to fetch more water for Tywin when she ran into the dwarf. She turned the corner sharply and almost ran head long into him. Surprised, she took a few steps back. "I'm sorry, my lord, I didn't see you."

"Funny how few people do." Tyrion Lannister said. "No offense taken." He started to move past her but then he stop. "' _My_ lord...'" He studied her. "You're my father's cup bearer aren't you? The girl who had Jaime so irritated."

"Oh, is he still irritated with me. I haven't stolen a thing from him since we came back here." Nim said, crossing her arms.

"He's complained less of you lately, if that is an accomplishment." Tyrion looked her up and down. "If I had more time, I would ask you your secret."

"My secret?" Nim's eyebrows rose.

"The secret of how you obtained my father's favor. See, his children tend to fail miserably at that." Tyrion shrugged.

"I'm afraid I couldn't tell you, my lord." Nim said. "I don't remember who I was when I obtained his favor."

"Shame." Tyrion said. "May I ask a favor of you?" he pulled a letter from his pocket. "Give this to him. Tomorrow. Not today. Tell him it's from me. He probably won't read it until next week. But all that matters is that its read."

"I can do that." Nim took the letter from him. "It's not urgent?"

"No. It's not urgent." Tyrion gave a crooked smile. "Well… farewell, Nim the Nameless."

Nim stared at him. "You know my name?"

"Of course." Tyrion said, continuing down the hall. "My brother has complained enough about you for me to get it."

Nim couldn't help but smirk. It gave her pride to be a thorn in the Kingslayer's side. And yet despite that she was still alive.

Yes, that made her very proud indeed.

* * *

"You've been down here more than me these past days." Nim said when Jaime set down his sword to rest.

"Fighting keeps my mind off things." Jaime replied. "It's so much less complicated than politics. A good sword in your hand on the battlefield and everything is simple. Here it's like a damn twig."

"It makes you seem strong." Nim said. "And intimidating."

"But not to those who really matter."

"You mean like your father." Jaime stared at her and Nim shrugged. "Its a bit obvious. You're all afraid of him. At least you and your brother. I haven't met your sister."

"You should be grateful for that." Jaime said. "When did you meet my brother?"

"In the halls earlier today. Told me to deliver a letter to your father." Nim swung her legs back and forth over the edge of the rocks. Below her water sprayed up almost high enough to sprinkle her boots. "He asked me what my secret was for winning Lord Tywin's favor, because none of his children could do it."

"I've been wondering that since the day my father took you in as his cupbearer." Jaime said. "But if I know my father, he has some other motive. More than just  _liking_ you. Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock has never done anything strictly for pleasure."

"I've never asked him." Nim shrugged.

"Did my brother mention anything else, when he talked to you? Like why he needed you to deliver the letter?" Jaime asked.

"No. Nothing. I didn't ask. I wasn't really interested."

"Right," Jaime sighed, and stood. "I'm done for the day."

"Suit yourself. I'll stay here a bit longer."

"Its nearly night out."

"The best swordsmen can move in the dark."

"And anyone less than the best poke their eye out." Jaime sheathed his sword. "Suit yourself."

Nim watched him go until he had disappeared. Then she went back to work, ducking and weaving until night had fallen completely. But even then, she could still see the sword in her mind's eye, nearly perfectly.

Thieves loved cover of night. But as a girl without a memory, being in the dark was becoming more and more frustrating.

* * *

"Ser Jaime," a boy met Jaime halfway to the castle. "Lord Tywin has called you to the tower of the hand."

"Again?" Jaime sighed. "What for this time?"

"Its your brother," the boy replied. "He's gone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Tyrion was smart and peaced out of King's Landing early. Safe travels Tyrion! Your leaving is going to have quite an effect on this plot :) Until next time, review, subscribe etc.


	13. Named

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been awhile. I think the moral of this story is that I'm bad at updating two fics consistently at once. But, on the plus side, this is a long awaited chapter! Enjoy!

Tyrion, as it turned out, had not been packing to move rooms, though that had been a clever disguise. He had packed to leave King's Landing on the fastest ship in the capital. The note he had given Nim in the hallway, contained a letter to their father, in which was written every last ill thought Tyrion had ever thought of him and the family. He spent a long time on his loathing for Tywin and Cersei, but not a word on Jaime.

Jaime supposed that should give him some satisfaction, only Tyrion didn't apologize to him either.

He'd left Tyrion's room thinking he would see his brother again. Now that was no longer possible. Tyrion would head across the narrow sea, and if their father had anything to say about it, he would be hunted down and killed for disgracing the family name. If Tyrion escaped, he wouldn't let him back into Westeros.

"You can't hunt him down like an animal." Jaime said. "He's still a Lannister."

"And why not?" Cersei asked icily. "He's always been a little beast. Its about time we treated him like one."

There was a chill in her voice that could rival the darkest of winters, but she had a smirk etched across her face. She seemed torn between happiness at finally being rid of Tyrion and sadness that he wouldn't suffer an arranged marriage just like her.

"He has made very clear that he no longer wishes to be a Lannister." Tywin said. "Or did you not read the note?"

"Yes, what reason could he have to disown us? We've always been so very  _kind_ to him." Jaime muttered. He paced from one end of the room to another. His emotions swirled inside of his chest like the most tumultuous of battles. Anger and worry and hurt and sadness. He didn't know which one to confront first.

Anger seemed the easiest.

"If we let him go, he'll plot to kill us." Cersei said. "He killed our mother coming into this world, he was born to continue to destroy the name of Lannister and everything that stems from it." She shifted in her chair, observing her fingers with a smugness so biting and yet so very common for his sister. He wondered why it hadn't angered him before. "But he's a coward. So after he attempted to assassinate the king—"

" _What?"_

"We had no choice but to put a price on his head." Cersei looked up at him, dead in the eye, unashamed of a single word of her lie. She dared him to challenge her with her gaze. And most times, Jaime would not have tried. That was the sad thing. But now when his brother was concerned, he would.

"A blatant lie," Jaime said.

"And yet there could be truth to it." Tywin said. "Across the narrow sea, there are plenty of unfortunate folk who would seat Joffery unseated from the throne."

"There are just as many, if not more, unfortunate folk here. You're worried about a few bastards over the bloody sea?"

"I do if Tyrion reaches them." Tywin said flatly. His gaze did not waver. His face did not betray the slightest regret that Tyrion was gone. "Tyrion knows far too much. It is safer if he dies. When a branch on a tree rots, you cut it off so that it can continue to flourish."

"It will have trouble doing that though, won't it? When there is no more fruit left." Jaime spit. It was threat, and the only one to offer.

"It is your duty to carry on the family," Tywin replied.

"If Tyrion dies." Jaime said. "I will gladly forsake that duty."

With these words he turned and marched from the room. He would not stand and listen to more of his father's talk of 'honor and duty' when he plotted to kill one of his sons.

 _'We are all seeds to be grown to him. We are all tools.'_ Jaime thought. _'Why did you have to leave me behind in this unbearable place, brother?'_

Never before had Jaime longed to be back on the battlefield, or even back in his prison at the North. There at least, he had hope of something better.

Here, hope came to die.

* * *

One heard all sorts of whispers in the keep if they listened hard enough. And over the past few days, the whispers has been so numerous, they might as well have been shouts. Two sets of gossip ran rampant about the halls. The first was about Tyrion Lannister. He had fled the capitol, apparently to avoid conviction of some crime. Every time Nim heard the story, the crime was different.

The second story was of Sansa Stark, eldest daughter of the traitor Ned Stark, the old Warden of the North and Hand of the King. She had finally been caught after many years of being on the run and was to go before the king today.

Nim had not yet seen the kind though she had heard every story imaginable about him. Joffrey Baratheon was nearly as hated as the Mad King, Aerys Targaryen. She had heard enough to know that this Sansa would be in for a lot of trouble and possibly a beheading.

Everyone, lords and ladies of the court and servants alike, turned up to see this event. So naturally, Nim placed herself among them. She was small enough to go unnoticed and in this moment, no one cared about her.

This was the first time she'd laid eyes on the iron throne. It was an impressive structure, a mess of swords from days long past all melded together into one great, uncomfortable seat. And atop that throne sat the kind. A sadistic grin stretched across his face and he sat atop the throne as if he himself had conquered it when he'd probably never even killed a man in battle.

He'd ordered many men killed, sure, and maybe he'd killed a few helpless servants as well, but he'd never tested his sword against another. If Nim wanted, she could poke him full of holes.

Nim was unprepared for the rage that filled her. Why should she be so angry with this boy who had not wronged her personally? Lantos said that rage slowed the mind so Nim had learned to temper it for the most part. Lantos attributed her self-control to her lack of memory, which Nim felt was ridiculous. But looking at this boy now, maybe he was right. It wasn't just anger that filled her. It was  _familiar_ anger that made her head swim. She had to look away to temper it. Look at the others standing about the throne.

Tywin sat at the king's right hand, his face unreadable. And on the king's left sat his mother, Cersei Lannister. She had golden blonde hair and a beautiful face but it was marred by a smirk almost as vicious as her son's. She wondered if it was a Lannister trait.

Her eyes passed to the corner of the room where Jaime stood on guard. He did not wear a smirk to match Cersei or Joffrey's, but Nim remembered well enough that expression in the Kingswood. He _could_ smirk, but he chose not to. In fact his expressions of mirth had seemed far wearier lately.

The doors to the throne room opened and every head turned, including Nim's. She had to push herself to the front of a crowd of servants to see. Led between two guards was a tall, willowy girl with red hair. But the color seemed dulled by grey and her pale skin looked sallow and sickly. Her face was vacant but her eyes told the truth. She was afraid and simply trying not to be. Though she stood taller than most girls, she looked very small as she stopped before the throne. One of the guards pushed her and she fell to her knees. She did not try to get up again.

Familiar anger pushed once more through Nim. It was exhilarating and frightening, how much she felt during this trial. Why? What reason did she have to feel? She was merely a bystander in this cruel game.

"Lady Sansa," the king spoke. "It's been too long. I haven't seen you since before the Battle of Blackwater. Before you fled with a traitor to the crown. You've likely been plotting to murder me since." He ran his fingers along the edge of one of the swords on the throne and Nim absently hoped he would cut himself with it. "I showed you my sword, heart eater, do you remember?" He leaned forward in his seat. "I promised to kill your traitor brother with it and let you lick his blood from the blade. Now your brother is dead."

"Then show me the blood on your sword." Sansa replied flatly, looking up at him. The look in her eyes was now sharp as broken glass. Nim had suspected she might be just another high born girl but seeing her gaze then, she knew she was wrong. There was strength in her eyes. Bravery in spite of fear.

Joffery's smirk faded slightly and he shifted in his chair as if he had just been poked by one of the swords. "Ser Merryn," he said the name as an order. And moments later the King's Guard beside Sansa smacked her across the face with his metal gloved hand. The hit drew blood and the attacked skin darkened immediately. But she didn't cry out. She merely raised her eyes to look upon Joffery again, her look no less hateful.

"You are a traitor, Lady Stark. If you want to keep your life, you will hold your tongue." Cersei Lannister said tightly.

"Forgive me your grace." Sansa murmured. "But I was under the impression that I would die regardless. This place always seemed so lacking in mercy."

' _So she thinks she's going to die,'_ Nim thought.  _'That explains it. She has nothing to fear except for the inevitable.'_

Lantos always told her that the inevitable was useless to fear. Fear was the mind's way of motivating a person. It helped them escape and avoid danger. But when the danger was immediate, fear became pointless.

" _What do you do then?"_ Nim had asked.

" _You wait and greet the problem with a smile and steel in your heart."_ Lantos replied.

Sansa Stark did not smile, but her steel was undeniable.

"And so you would." Joffery said. "But my councilors have been speaking with me and they have informed me of the necessity of your survival if we want to control the rebel north." He rubbed his fingers together. "I believed that simply killing all the rebels would be sufficient but the men who serve the crown are tired from a long time of loyally fighting to defend. I would hate to further exhaust them."

' _Liar,'_ Nim thought.  _'You wouldn't mind one bit.'_

"Your future son will be our key to the North." Joffery said. "Besides, I'd hate to see you die before you see the rest of your family and even the memory of them destroyed. You should live to see all of it. There will be plenty of Northmen's blood for you to lick off my sword before I'm done." He waved his hand. "But you're from the north. Why don't we start with your blood?"

Ser Merryn, and another knight, converged on Sansa. One punched her in the stomach and the other smacked her across the face again, sending her to the ground, gasping. They pulled back their feet and kicked her. Nim could barely believe what she was seeing. Two supposedly honorable knights in armor, kicking an unarmored girl.

"We only need you alive. Nothing more." Joffery said. "So a little spilled blood won't hurt anything."

Rage boiled up inside Nim again and she found herself pushing through the crowd. But when she reached the edge of the onlookers she remembered that she didn't have a sword and that any action on her part would get her killed. She wanted to help, but she forced herself to slow. She had to watch this like any other servant. As an onlooker. As a nameless face in the crowd.

At least that's what she was until Sansa Stark turned her battered face toward Nim. Her grey eyes widened as they connected with Nim's for reasons she could not understand. She mouthed something. A single word. But Nim could not hear from this distance. Her brow furrowed. Why would she take this time to say anything to her?

"Stop." Joffery said. "What did you say?"

Sansa did not reply and she quickly looked away from Nim. But Joffery had not missed the path of her gaze. He pointed right at Nim and she froze. "Were you looking at her?" When Sansa said nothing he grinned. "Seems like it. What is your name and why does the lady have such an interest in you."

All eyes were on her now. Nim swallowed and steeled herself. Time to play the humble servant for this barbaric king. "My name is Nim, your grace. I am a cup bearer for Lord Tywin, Hand of the King."

"Just Nim? No… family name?" Joffery asked.

"If I have a family name I do not remember it." Nim replied. "The name Nim is one I took for myself. I have no memory preceding three years ago."

"I see. A nameless cupbearer. That is interesting. You don't seem like the type to know a lady."

"No, your grace." Nim said. "I'm not. This is the first I've seen of Lady Stark's face."

"Interesting." Joffery said. "So, my lady. What is it you said when you looked at this nameless cup bearer?"

"Nothing. Nothing of importance." Sansa muttered but her once steady voice shook.

"I think you're lying. Shall we have Ser Merryn beat the answer from you?" Joffery leaned forward. "Perhaps if you don't want to speak, we should cut out your tongue."

"Then you wouldn't get an answer from me, your grace." Sansa said tightly.

"Fine then." Joffery said after a pause. "If she's not important, I'll just have this cupbearer killed. There are plenty of her kind."

Nim gritted her teeth and took a step back as Ser Merryn took a step forward. Her hand darted automatically behind her back. She had a knife on her, but only one. It wouldn't be enough. Perhaps she could kill the king with a lucky shot? They would sing songs about that for years. The cupbearer assassin.

Ser Merryn approached, raising his sword and Nim's fingers curled around the knife.

"Arya!" Sansa cried out.

Everything froze. Merryn lowered his sword and Joffery leaned forward to observe Sansa. "What was that?"

"Arya." Sansa repeated. "I said… Arya."

A clamour broke out amongst the crowd. Nim swore she saw almost every eye widen, apart from Sansa's. And her own. Nim had not entirely processed what Sansa had said. Why had she said Arya while looking at Nim? Wasn't Arya the name of the younger Stark daughter? Why address her with that name?

"Arya." Joffery said. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Nim. "Well… it is the other Stark bitch isn't it?" His smirk grew. "It looks like we found another key to the north."

That was when it clicked for Nim. Sansa had called her Arya because she recognized her. Because she had not seen a nameless cupbearer in the crowd but her long lost sister.

Because Nim  _was_ Arya Stark.

Nim stumbled back two steps then turned toward the exit, hoping to run. She found Jaime in her path.

"Don't fight," he said flatly. But Nim could see the surprise on his face. The uncertainty. "You won't win this one."

Nim's head swam. It was funny. She had faced such a wide variety of thugs and bandits. And yet here, in this moment, she had never been more afraid. Afraid not just of the court but of her own poisonous name.

" _Do not fear the inevitable"_ Lantos had told her.

But the inevitable here was not death. Nim almost wished it was. Instead the inevitable was her very identity. Her name.

_Arya Stark._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus, Nim is named Arya, though she still does not have her memories. How will the Lannisters use this newly revealed key to the north and how will she navigate suddenly being important? Review, subscribe etc and see you all next time!


	14. A Wolf in the Lion's Den

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am terrible at updating this fic, aren't I? All the 'Wolf Amongst Lions' readers get these nice consistent updates and then I just leave you guys hanging for a month at a time. I am very sorry. I need to get a better schedule for this one.  
> Regardless, enjoy the latest installment!

" _It never even occurred to me,"_ Jaime thought.  _"I even met the damn girl."_

At least, he met her very briefly. He'd seen her at Winterfell when he made the journey up with Robert Baratheon's entourage. That accursed trip that had started this damn war. It brought Ned Stark to King's Landing. It brought him to the truth of Joffery's conception. And with a few ravens and a beheading, the war of five kings began.

But on that trip to Winterfell, he only glanced at Arya Stark. She was even smaller back then, and insignificant to him. He remembered Robb Stark, the eldest son of Ned Stark. A promising lad and swordsman. He remembered the bastard, Jon Snow, equally talented though less blessed in his birth. He remembered the lovely Sansa Stark, who at that moment was betrothed to Joffery, her soon to be nightmare. And of course, he remembered the boy, Bran Stark, who he pushed from the window to keep his relationship with Cersei a secret.

But Arya? He had not remembered her face, and even if he had, how would he recognize her? It had been over four years since that day and she was grown now. Into Nim the Irritating and Recently Nameless.

" _I wonder if she regrets her desire for a memory now,"_ Jaime thought as he leaned back against the wall of the small council room. The girl sat among them, surrounded like prey before a pride of lions. She kept silent and watched them warily as they spoke to her. Tywin, Cersei, Varys, Pycelle. Joffery was not in the room. Tywin thought it wise if he was not present for this discussion, and since the king ruined every living thing he touched, this was probably true.

"I recognize you now that I see you up close." Cersei said, cocking her head to the side. A lion observing a mouse. "And you really remember nothing?"

"Nothing." Nim replied. Jaime still couldn't help but think of her as Nim. Arya was nothing to him. Nim was the name he placed with this face. "I've tried enough times to remember. If I had even an inkling of my family, I would have sought them out."

"A blessing that you didn't." Cersei said.

"Why?" Nim's eyes narrowed only slightly but she betrayed no hint of anger other than that. She knew well enough she was cornered. It would be interesting to see how well she played against their lies. Without her memory, how would she know what to believe?

"You are unfortunate to come from a traitor's seed." Maester Pycelle said. "A vicious traitor. Your older brother was a traitor and your sister too."

Tywin held up a hand to stop him before he turned his eyes on Nim. "Tell me, how much do you know of your family's betrayal?"

"Rumors and stories." Nim said. "I know that Lord Eddard Stark—my father I suppose—was beheaded for treason against the king. And I know that Robb Stark went to war with you. But you never know what to believe from common folk."

"Then it would please you to hear the facts." Cersei leaned forward.

Jaime resisted the urge to sigh. Nim had as good a chance of hearing the true facts as Ned Stark had of getting back his head. She would get the facts his father wanted her to have. Lies that would mold her mind in place of memories. This Arya Stark was a better key to the North. Sansa Stark loathed them all but Nameless Nim could become whatever they wanted. They could appease Joffery with Sansa's death and keep the key to the North.

"Your father was friend to my late husband, Robert Baratheon." Cersei looked down, as if his death had disturbed her at all. A good act, he had to admit. "He fought beside him in the war. And Robert trusted him so much, he offered him a place as Hand of the Kind. You came with him and your sister Sansa when they came to King's Landing."

"These halls were familiar to me." Nim murmured, looking around. "I just didn't know why."

"Yes," Cersei smiled that tight smile of hers. "But the moment your father arrived, he plotted to over throw the king, his friend. He sought any opening he could. Clearly he thought Robert wasn't an effective ruler. Perhaps he wasn't." she admitted.

_He definitely wasn't,_ Jaime thought.

"But he was my husband—"

_Who you loved so much._

"He did not deserve such betrayal."

_This coming from one who plotted to have him killed._

Truly her lies were masterful. Jaime almost believed them himself.

"Then my husband was fatally wounded in a hunting accident. And before his body was cold, Lord Stark plotted to take the throne from my son." She shifted. "Fortunately we were prepared. We sentenced him to death. Unfortunately, this caused Robb Stark to rebel and the lies Eddard spread brought more traitors into the light."

"We offered Robb Stark many chances to make peace." Varys said. "We tried to help him see reason: that simply because his father was a traitor, he did not have to make the same mistake."

"But a traitor's seed grows treachery as well." Pycelle said, raising one gnarled fist in statement. Jaime rolled his eyes to the ceiling. The old cunt always was one for theatrics.

"To make matters worse, Sansa Stark, who we all treated well and allowed to stay betrothed to my son despite her father's actions…" Cersei sighed heavily. "Well, she chose to run away with a coward and traitor during the Battle of Blackwater. Undoubtedly to plot more schemes with the others. Your family has been trying to seize the throne for a while now."

"I see." Nim looked from Cersei to Pycelle to Tywin. "So, if I have traitor's blood… what is to be my fate?"

"You have traitor's blood, but without your memory, you don't have any traitor's lessons implanted in you." Varys said. "And most of these traitors are gone now."

"You have no home to return to." Tywin said. "It was burned down by the Greyjoys. Your father and mother are dead, as well as your oldest brother. Your younger brothers are missing and likely dead."

"And my sister is imprisoned in your dungeons." Nim said.

"As you say," Cersei said. "But perhaps there is still hope for you. In mind, you are not a Stark anymore."

"No. But in mind I am a low born girl who has lived on the streets, fighting with long blades and lifting coin off more fortunate travelers when I saw the need." Nim replied flatly. "I'm not sure I'm suited to your court."

"Learning the ways of the court is not such a difficult thing." Varys said. "You see, my lady, I was but a foreigner with no name before I came here. I have adjusted well. So can you."

"Maybe." Nim traced her fingers along the chair. Though it seemed nonchalant, Jaime could see her calculating every word she spoke. She knew perfectly well the danger she was in. Every fighter had an instinct for that even when the threat lay outside the battlefield. A false word became a feint to the right. A glance became the light of the sun on a blade changing directions mid swing. "But still, in the case of my blood, I am still a danger. Why are you being so welcoming? It would seem it would be safer to kill me. Unless you needed something…"

"And what do you think we need?" Cersei asked.

"You need the loyalty of the North." Nim said. "I've been there before. Enough to know that they still rebel even though the war is over. And I am one of the only Stark's left, as you said." Her fingers paused on the chair's arm. "The other Stark child you have access to… well she's a traitor. And the King loathes her."

"He has every right." Cersei said.

"I'm sure he does. I wouldn't know." Nim looked up at her, meeting her eyes with an unwavering gaze. "That's the thing about having no memory. I have no grudges or opinions on anyone."

"It must be a relieving thing." Varys said.

"It was until I was given a name. Now I find myself a bit lost," Nim murmured.

"Then we are able to help each other." Tywin said. "I won't pretend that we have completely noble intentions. That is not how politics work. We do need the loyalty of the North. Because winter is coming and more war means a depletion of more resources. We need your cooperation. In return for information about who you used to be."

Nim nodded once. "I suppose… right now, I don't have much of a choice."

"You do not." Tywin agreed.

Nim's gaze was vacant. Honestly, Jaime expected more of a fight from her. Was she really so afraid of her name? Was she really so weak without her blade. Not that Jaime could talk. His strength never lay in politics. But he'd expected someone as stupid as Nim to go on the offensive, making snide remarks. Yet he hadn't heard one.

"Jaime." Tywin looked to him when Nim said nothing in reply. "Escort Lady Arya to her new quarters. She needs time to process such a trying day."

Jaime nodded his head and moved toward her. She stood and met his eye, still giving nothing away. She looked tired and defeated. Maybe Nim was never quite as strong as she thought.

He guided her in silence to her new room. It was a room that once housed Lady Sansa before she ran away. He opened the door and beckoned her in to her new prison. As soon as he left her, this door would be locked and guards posted outside. His father would not risk letting such a precious resource escape. He almost felt sorry for her when she looked like this.

She stepped forward, but paused in the doorway, an odd expression on her face. "Ser Jaime."

"Yes?" he asked.

She didn't reply. Not with words at least. Instead she spun and grabbed a plate of his armor, tugging forward suddenly enough to make him stumble. A few stumbled steps was all she needed to get him in the room. In one fluid motion she slammed the door behind them and stood between him and the handle. Her grey eyes blazed with an inferno of fury.

"Seven hells, girl!" Jaime snapped. "What are you trying to do?"

"I want truth." Nim said. "For the first time today, I would like to hear the truth."

Jaime sighed and took a step toward her. "Just stand aside."

Nim again responded, not with a word, but with a motion. She drew a knife so swiftly from under her tunic, Jaime barely saw her hand move. She jabbed the knife deep into the wood of the table beside the door. It quivered upon impact, making the silence ring. And in that moment, Jaime thought himself a fool for ever seeing her as prey among lions. No.

Memory or none, this girl had the blood of a wolf.

* * *

Nim was almost glad for the council's lies. She had been so lost and confused, unsure what to think or believe. But their obvious lies had cleared her head. True, they had made her blood boil as well, but that too gave her focus. The woman, Cersei, especially heightened her fury with every word she spoke. But she knew better than to play her card of defiance too early. Not in that room.

But with only one lion to deal with… oh she could handle that.

"You intend to kill me, girl?" Jaime sneered. "I happen to have a sword. You only have that knife. Your long knives are tucked away in one of your hiding places."

"Oh I have an advantage." Nim replied icely.

"And what is that."

" _You_ can't  _kill_ me." She smirked darkly. "Not anymore."

Jaime fell silent for a moment and she knew she had spoken truth. It took him a minute to recover but in that moment of indecision he only confirmed her statement. "We still have your older sister."

"Who will be dead soon." Nim said. "I'm not an idiot, Kingslayer. I am the easier target. Sansa is a bone that the king would love to chew on. They'll toss her to him without a second thought. I am the convenient replacement."

"Figured this all out have you?"

"I've figured out that I am being fed lies to mold me into a loyal pawn. I'm still working on the strategy, but I don't know, I'm having a bit of difficulty because I now have a name that means nothing to me and a history that I can only begin to grasp." She stared him down. "So tell me."

Jaime did not speak and she grew frustrated. She gripped the knife and lunged at him. "Tell me!"

He blocked her strike, gripping her wrist hard enough that she had to let the blade fall. Then he backed her up, slamming her hard into a wall. Her head cracked against the stone and she gasped in pain.

"You're a lousy fighter when you're angry." Jaime noted, glaring down at her. "All your movements get so much sloppier. Like some common street robber."

She glared right back at him for a long moment, until he released her and stepped back.

"Know your place here, Nim" Jaime said. "You are in way over your head. You can't outwit them any better than you can kill me."

"You forget that I could have." Nim hissed.

"Not like this." Jaime looked her up and down. Then he turned, opening the door to leave.

"Wait." Nim croaked out. She needed something true. Some piece of her unremembered life that she could look to. "Wait, please."

Jaime stopped and glanced back at her.

"Just tell me one thing. One true thing. I don't care what it is. Just tell me something about my life that really happened. No changes. No twists." Her desperation  mixed with her anger now. "Please."

Jaime observed her for a long time. "Arya Stark…" The name sounded so foreign to Nim that she almost flinched. Almost. "There is something actually. I can't believe I forgot. I knew that desperate look seemed familiar." Nim opened her mouth to protest but he didn't seem to notice. He kept on talking. "When I saw you unhinged in the Kingswood. Yes, that's when I thought I recognized you. I know why now."

"Tell me." Nim pushed herself to her feet.

"Admittedly, I had very little interaction with you." Jaime said. "But when you were travelling down with your father and sister to King's Landing—you must have been thirteen or so then—there was an interesting incident." He traced the groove in the table where Nim's knife had left a mark. "You had a direwolf as a pet. All your siblings did. They were still small at that age but growing fast."

"I had… a direwolf?" Nim's eyes widened. How she would love to have such a magnificent creature now. She didn't even know the existed beyond the wall anymore.

"Yes." Jaime said. "And the beast must have been as stubborn and wild as you. Because you got into a bit of a fight with King Joffery. At that point he was only a Prince. I'm not sure how the fight started."

"Did I beat him?" Nim asked eagerly and she thought she saw the corner of Jaime's twitch.

"Oh yes. Though the direwolf helped." Jaime said. "Bit Joffery's hand. Then you threw his sword into the river. The beast escaped but you were brought before the king. Robert Baratheon at the time." He looked at her. "That's where I recognize that desperate look from. Anger and fear mixed together. That's what was in you when you stood before him alone, before your father found you."

"Well… perhaps…" Nim swallowed. "Perhaps I am the same beneath all this nothing."

"Its possible." Jaime said. "One true thing. I can promise you I made none of that story up."

"I would know if you did." Nim bowed her head slightly. "Thank you."

"It's a harmless story really." Jaime said. "Children's quarrels often are."

"Yes." Nim said. She glanced around the room. "I won't be allowed out of this room, will I?"

"Not without escort." Jaime said. "You acted cooperative, but my father won't take any chances."

"Looks as if I won't get my time to practice then." Nim muttered. She hated this. Hated the constraints her name now brought to her. She wanted the freedom of namelessness.

Why didn't she listen to Lantos.

Seven hells, why didn't she listen to Jaime?

"Your long knives. Where are they?" Jaime asked. "I can't bring them to you… but I can be sure they're taken care of."

She eyed him warily. "Can you?"

"I gave you your weapons back when you asked before. I have no reason to steal them." Jaime shrugged.

"True." Nim said. "But… if you do… I might have to hurt you."

"You're welcome to try." Jaime said evenly. There was no lie in his gaze. He did not want to swindle her. Unlike others in King's Landing, Jaime was not as practiced a liar.

"They're hidden in the dungeons." Nim said. "In the largest dragon skull."

"Why there?" Jaime asked curiously.

"I'm not sure. I was drawn to them." Nim said.

"Very well." Jaime said. "I'll see them taken care of, Nim."

"Nim." She repeated. "You still call me that?"

"It's the name I have placed with your face." Jaime said. "Would you rather I called you your true name?"

"No." Nim said without hesitation. "No. Just… thank you."

Jaime nodded once. Then he left. The door bolted shut behind him.

Only then did Nim allow herself to sink to her knees. Standing had become too much of an effort now. She was trapped under a great weight. The weight of her title. The weight of her family.

The weight of her name.

Arya Stark had made her a prisoner in this place and a pawn in this wicked game of thrones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, Arya still doesn't have her memory, but now she has her name, and that certainly changes things :) Review, subscribe etc and hopefully I'll like...update this soon like a not trash author. Until next time!


	15. Arrangements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look! I'm updating again! Wild. This chapter is mostly from Jaime's POV though there's a bit from Arya at the end. I enjoyed a lot of the conversations in this chapter. Hope you do too!

Over the next few weeks, Jaime saw Nim—who he still had a hard time seeing as Arya Stark—several times. Sometimes when she was summoned to the small council to hear more lies. Sometimes when he was charged with watching her door like some glorified guard dog with nothing better to do. But whenever he saw her, she asked him relentless questions.

He couldn't understand why. He knew very little about Arya Stark and who she was before. Maybe she asked him because she knew she'd hear the truth.

He was running out of truths that weren't dangerous. He couldn't very well tell her the real reason her father was beheaded. Or that Rob Stark was killed by Walder Frey with his father's blessing. Or any of the other terrible things he and his family had done to the Starks.

He tried to keep himself to small details.

"Your brother Jon Snow is part of the Night's Watch."

"You had a sword of your own. Can't remember what you called it."

"Your father had some kind of 'dancing instructor' called in. He was teaching you how to use a sword."

This last one seemed to intrigue Nim most of all. "Really? What kind of teacher?"

"Never met him." Jaime replied. "I think he was from one of the free cities."

"Bravos."

"Yes, that's it."

"It makes sense." Nim nodded once. "Lantos always said I had a good foundational knowledge of sword play. It must be because I was already learning." A frown creased her face. "I wonder if Lantos has noticed that I'm gone. He'd never expect me to be here… in fact he told me to stay away from the keep."

"You don't seem to be one for taking advice." Jaime said.

" _You_ brought me here, you know." Nim protested. "I was unconscious at the time. I didn't have a say."

"My sincerest apologies." Jaime retorted. "If faced with the choice again, I'll leave you to die."

"I'd appreciate that." Nim shot back. "Anything is better than having to play the role of lady. 'My lady' this and 'my lady' that. I hope you don't mind 'my lady' but we're going to lock you in a room with our lies and hope you're stupid enough to believe them."

Jaime's mouth twitched. He'd heard that before, but not from Nim. A long time ago, Cersei had been similarly resistant to the prospect of being a lady. Eventually she had bowed to her duty as society saw it. But it had turned her cold.

He wondered if the title of Lady Stark would do the same to Nim? Would it chain her spirit just like it had chained Cersei?

Even though Jaime didn't believe in the gods, he thanked them every day that he had been born a man.

* * *

"You're not fooling her, you know." Jaime told his father later. "Not for a moment."

"I'm aware." Tywin replied, not looking up from his letters. "The girl was a clever thing even in my service at Harrenhal. I assumed her wits had not dulled. She may not know what we are lying about but she can tell that we're lying."

"So what exactly was your plan then?" Jaime asked.

"Clever or not, she's still easier to handle than Sansa Stark. At least when it comes to Joffrey" Tywin said. "I could bring the king to heel about Sansa if I tried. I could force him to accept. But I don't care to."

"I'm willing to wager that Sansa Stark would be more cooperative," Jaime said.

"Maybe, but Sansa ran from King's Landing at the battle of Blackwater with a known traitor. That makes her a traitor in the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms. There's little we can do to dispel that image. She must be dealt with accordingly." Tywin returned to writing. "Meanwhile Arya will become the key to the north. She's clever enough to handle herself."

"But stupid enough to try to assassinate half of the court." Jaime replied. "She is good with a weapon. Enough to pose a threat. Sansa Stark, at the very least, can be made docile. Nim—Arya will act on her hatred."

"Yes. Arya Stark might." Tywin met his eyes. "Nim the Nameless will not. She knows she is being lied to and she distrusts most of us. But she does not know the extent of what has happened. She has no grudges. Not yet."

"And if she regains her memory?" Jaime asked. "Or if she finds out? What was your plan then, father?"

"You'll have to make sure the girl doesn't do anything stupid," Tywin replied.

"How do you expect me to do that?" Jaime asked. "Admittedly, keeping her locked in her room is a decent deterrent for a while, but you can't do that forever. Would you like me to follow her around all day, keeping sharp objects away from her?"

"No." Tywin said lightly, wiping a bit of dust from the edge of his desk. "But she will very soon be your responsibility."

"What do you mean?" Jaime's eyes narrowed.

"She only becomes a proper key to the north when she has a son." Tywin said. "A Lannister son. Which means she must be wed to a Lannister. It was the original plan, after all, with Sansa and Tyrion. But Tyrion is gone and Sansa will be soon. So plans have changed."

Jaime couldn't believe what he was hearing. He blinked hard as he stared at his father, wondering if he might be dreaming. Perhaps he should slam his head against a wall to wake himself up from this nightmare.

"What?" he finally managed.

"Why do my children always respond to my commands with 'what' as if they think they will hear something different? As if they think I will change my mind." Tywin looked up at him. "You will marry the Stark girl. You will provide heirs to both Casterly Rock and Winterfell. You will solidify our legacy."

"I will not." Jaime shook his head. "You cannot force me. I will not forsake yet another vow."

"You promised me in this very room that you would carry on the family name if no one else could."

"Isn't that funny coming from you?" Jaime snapped. "You talk about protecting the family name and you don't even protect the current family. You'd see Tyrion dead rather than brought home. It's what you've  _always_ wanted. And you have the gall to talk about caring for the family?"

Tywin observed him a long time, his gaze like ice. Jaime almost shifted back. Under that gaze he still found it difficult to stand his ground. How foolish that even after years of fighting on the battle field and months of imprisonment, Jaime still felt like a child before his father.

"Alright then." Tywin said at last. "I have not yet placed a price on Tyrion's head. I have not yet sent word of it to the cutthroats of King's Landing. Right now, he need only fear the soldiers I have sent after him. But they can be controlled." He pulled a roll of parchment from his desk and got out a pen. "I can write a letter to them right now, telling them to cease the search for Tyrion. I will allow him to escape and live out the rest of his days as he sees fit." Tywin looked up at Jaime. "But I will do this only if you make me a vow. That you will do your duty to the family. That you will do as I have asked. If you don't, rest assured, Tyrion will be dead within a month. He can't hide himself easily. He sticks out. It won't be hard to any of our spies to find him and end his life. But with this letter, I can stop all of that from happening."

"Oh, father. You're so fond of using letters to get your way." Jaime said through gritted teeth. "Stopping wars. Blackmailing sons."

"Should I write this letter, Jaime?"

Jaime felt like punching something, most of all, his father. He had planned to live the rest of his days as a member of the King's Guard. No wife. No one to tear him away from what he enjoyed most: fighting and Cersei. This would rip that away from him. He didn't want to be the damn heir to Casterly Rock. He didn't want to rule. He didn't want politics.

He also didn't want his brother dead. If Tyrion wanted to be free of this family… well, he had more reason than Jaime. Tyrion had been the Lannister joke for so long it was a wonder he'd lasted so many years under the taunts and jeers of other noblemen. His brother could not die.

"Write the damn letter." Jaime muttered.

"I have your word then?"

"Yes, yes, I swear it by all the old gods and the new." Jaime said. "By whatever bloody gods you'd like. You have my word."

He didn't wait for his father's reply. He stormed from the room, slamming the door as hard as he possibly could behind him.

He regretted this vow already. Not for saving his brother. He could never regret that. He regretted the life that now lay before him.

* * *

"So?"

"So what?"

" _Say_ something."

The request fell into the dead silence like a heavy stone through water. Jaime felt as if he was speaking to his sister across a wide canyon. And Cersei stood at the other side of that canyon, a glass of wine in her hand and a mirthless smile on her lips.

"What can I say?" she asked. "If you want pity, brother, I'm not inclined to give it. You don't deserve pity. You get a young bride, Casterly Rock and the North. I am shipped off to high garden to wed a known pillow biter." She raised her glass and took a sip.

"I don't want this match." Jaime said.

"And I don't want mine. So perhaps you've gotten a taste of what its like to be a woman in this world." Cersei retorted. "Shipped from place to place like cattle. You think it will be bad for you, it will be worse for the girl."

"Of course it will be worse for her." Jaime said. "Our family is the reason for the  _destruction_ of hers."

"She doesn't know that." Cersei murmured.

"You're a fool if you think your lies have convinced her of anything, Cersei. She sees through them.  _Anyone_ can."

"You're no fine liar yourself."

"At least I'm honest about it."

"Honest," Cersei smirked. "Of course. But you're lying now."

"What are you talking about?" Jaime asked suspiciously.

"Well, I think you're rather fond of the girl." Cersei said. "You had been seen with her quite a lot before this revelation. Practicing sword play, was it?"

"That was  _exactly_ the  _only thing_ we were doing." Jaime said. Damn his sister's spies.

"Practicing skills with a little girl. I guess it shows that you weren't cut out for the King's Guard in the first place." Cersei looked over her shoulder at him. "Time to break another vow."

It was amazing, but in that moment, Jaime had never been so furious with Cersei. He'd been irritated with her plenty of times. Sometimes he got angry. She said horrible things but so often he brushed them aside. But she knew his weak points. And she hit them now out of malice.

"Why did the gods curse me to love such a hateful woman?" He hissed. "Repugnant. Jealous—"

"Jealous?" Cersei spun to face him. "You're right brother, I am jealous, but not of your new betrothed. Not because I won't be your bride. I am  _jealous_ because  _you_ are not suited to the body you were given. I should have been the one in armor and you the one in the gown. You waist your gift from birth but never taking anything seriously. It should be  _me_ in your place and you on your way to High Garden."

Jaime almost raised his hand. She had angered him so much that he almost thought about striking her. An impressive feat, even for Cersei. "You're wrong," he said softly. "There is one thing I have always taken seriously. Us. I pushed a boy out a tower window and started this whole damn war to keep our secret safe. I murdered people. I spent every day trying to escape my prison in the North so I could get back to you." He took a step toward her. "But you? You have never taken 'us' seriously, have you? Is this all one of your damn games? Has it always been a game to you?"

Cersei didn't reply. She merely took another sip of her wine, a satisfied but joyless smile on her face.

"You're wrong, sweet sister." Jaime spat the words now like an insult. "You deserve this body no more than me. You are not nearly as smart as you think you are. You think you can play this game? Look at the monster you created who sits on the throne. Look at the war you started because you couldn't control him. Look at how a girl with  _no memory_ saw through your lies like glass."

"You think your future bride clever after all." Cersei mocked.

"More clever than you." Jaime said. "Arya Stark would have made far better use of a man's body than you ever would."

"Well then," Cersei said. "I suppose its better that she is to be your wife."

"Perhaps it is." Jaime said. And without another word, he stormed from the room.

Never had such harsh words passed between Jaime and Cersei. But standing in that empty hall, he knew they could never be taken back.

He hadn't accepted it yet. Not in his heart. But nothing would ever be the same between him and his sister again.

* * *

Nim was practicing with a kitchen knife when she heard the knock on the door. She had been throwing it at the same spot in the wall all morning. There was nothing more interesting to pass the time with. But at the sound of the knock she stopped in mid throw and hid the knife beneath the pillows of her bed.

"Who is it?" she asked.

The door creaked open. Cersei Lannister entered, gliding through the door with the calculation of a venomous snake. Nim turned fully to face her.

"Your grace," she said, trying to force a more pleasant expression on her face.

"Lady Stark." Cersei nodded her head. "I thought I might have a word."

Nim nodded. "You're not interrupting anything of importance."

"Good." Cersei smiled a tightlipped smile and gestured to one of the chairs at the small dining table in the room. "Sit."

Nim did, never taking her eyes off the woman with golden hair.

"Do you find your quarters acceptable?" Cersei asked.

"Well enough." Nim said. "I'm quite familiar with them. Seeing as I can't leave."

"You will be released soon enough." Cersei said. "But you will still be… another kind of prisoner."

"Will I?" Nim's eyes narrowed.

"All women of noble birth are prisoners to what is expected of them." Cersei said. She leaned forward slightly. "I believe I was younger than you when I was shipped to this very castle. Wed to King Robert Baratheon. A dream come true for most young girls, but not for me." She looked around. "This place became my prison. And over the years, my children have made it bearable. But only just." She looked back at Nim. "Now I am to be shipped off again. So you see the prison does not evaporate when your husband is dead and your son king. There is no immunity for women even then."

"This is exactly why I always dressed in boy's clothing," Nim said. "I don't have any patience for those kinds of prisons."

"And that was easy enough to do. When you were not called Arya Stark." Cersei said. "Now, you will not get away with it so easily. Believe me, I tried."

"Why are you telling me this?" Nim asked. "It's all very interesting, really. I just don't understand why."

Cersei appeared sympathetic but Nim thought she saw a gleam of fiendish delight in her eye. "Because I thought it would be best if a woman who understood such prisons… told you about the prison that is soon to be yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, a cliffhanger. That's true to form for me though. Also, I will apologize in advance for Sansa fans that she's not going to be in this fic for much longer. Like I love Sansa. She's my precious one. But in this particular plot...it is not good for her. She is more involved in Wolf Amongst Lions though!  
> Thanks as always for your reading. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


	16. Memories of Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think at this time, my apologizing for inconsistent updates is getting repetitive so I won't >.> But at the very least, I have an exciting chapter for everyone today. And, I'd like to remind you, I did apologize ;)

Jaime knew he should  _probably_ tell Nim about the new arrangement before she found out from anyone else. If someone else told her, she might make an attempt on his life when next he saw her. Of course, if  _he_ told her, she might make an attempt all the same. But at least he'd be expecting the attack.

And yet, he made an effort to avoid seeing her. To avoid telling her. He wasn't sure why. Not really. She meant nothing to him so he should be able to tell her the facts without remorse or care for how it might make her feel.

But if she was to be his wife…

Jaime cringed every time he thought of it. He had never meant to marry. That had never been part of the plan. And he  _especially_ never meant to marry a child. She was eighteen of course. Not technically a child. But she was a child compared to him. She still acted like one at any rate.

But for some unfathomable reason, he pitied her. Maybe because he had once been a prisoner. He knew what it was like to feel trapped. And this marriage would be a cage for her. And he felt awful for the part he would play in that cage. Even though he didn't owe her anything, she still felt guilty.

Eventually, however, he had reason to go to her chambers after a particularly unpleasent small council meeting. During the meeting, Joffery not only decided that Sansa Stark was to be executed by beheading like her father before her but he also ordered that Arya Stark must be present to watch.

"She does not remember her sister or any of her family, your grace." Varys had reminded gently. "It might not have the intended effect."

"I don't care. I want her present anyway." Joffery lifted his chin. "I want her to see what happens to traitors. I want her to see what we could do to her if she steps out of line."

Joffrey never ceased to remind everyone of his cruelty. But perhaps Jaime could deliver all the bad news to Nim at once. Plans for Sansa Stark's execution might make Nim's engagement to him seem less terrible by comparison.

Maybe.

He knocked twice on her door.

"Who is it?" Nim asked from within.

"Jaime."

There was a long pause from behind the door before she spoke again. "Come in."

Jaime opened the door, sliding into the room and closing it behind him. There was a sudden swish and a dull thud and Jaime found a kitchen knife embedded in the door inches from his face. He stared at the knife for a long moment before his gaze moved to the girl who had thrown it. Nim stood in the center of the room, her hand raised, her eyes blazing.

"Seven hells," Jaime muttered. "Who told you?"

"Your sister." Nim said flatly. "When were  _you_ going to tell me?"

"Of course she fucking did." Jaime growled. "I was going to tell you just now. That's why I came here." Jaime pulled the knife from the wood and set it on the table beside him. He really should confiscate this from her but he couldn't bring himself to take every weapon away. It seemed cruel.

Nim's shoulders sagged and her arm dropped slightly. "So its true… she wasn't lying just to get a reaction out of me."

"If there's one thing Cersei knows, its that sometimes she doesn't need a lie to do that. Sometimes all she needs is a truth." Jaime took a cautious step forward. "Though she could have done some lying. What did she tell you?"

Nim swallowed hard and though she was trying to keep her face impassive and strong, Jaime could see her wavering. "That I am to marry you. That my sons are meant to be heirs to Winterfell and Casterly Rock. That there's nothing I can do to stop it. That you won't  _bother_ to stop it."

"Oh good. She told at least one lie then" Jaime exhaled. "She was worrying me there for a minute. Everything was sounding much too true."

Nim blinked. "So you tried, did you?"

"I don't want this match." Jaime said. "I never wanted to marry in the first place. That's one of the reasons I joined the King's Guard. Its against our vows."

"King's Guard vows are for life." Nim said. "So…you can't break them."

"Technically, no." Jaime said. "But my father finds a way to get around these things. There is a way for me to be released from my vows. So of course he's jumped on the opportunity."

"But why don't you just say 'no'?" Nim asked. "Why not just refuse to do it?"

"I would have." Jaime shifted. "But… its my brother." Nim looked confused so he continued. "You must have heard. Tyrion disappeared from the keep. My sister wanted to paint this as a post treasonous act in which he tried to kill the king before escaping. My father didn't exactly stop her. They both hate Tyrion." He sighed. "But I don't and my father has used that against me. He told me that if I agreed to the match he would call of the search for Tyrion and never put a bounty on his head." He looked at her seriously. "I care more about my brother's life than I care about what I want. Or what you want."

Nim observed him for a long time before her mouth twitched. "You know… Lady Cersei left that part out."

"That doesn't surprise me at all." Jaime sighed.

"It doesn't surprise me either. I don't like your sister."

"She doesn't like you."

"I guess I don't have to feel guilty about it then." She almost managed a grin and Jaime smiled back. But the lighthearted look faded soon and she sank onto a chair. "I…wish the rest of it wasn't true though." She looked very tired then and for a moment, Jaime thought he saw glassiness in her eyes but she turned her face away, toward the window, before he could confirm it.

"Lady Arya," Jaime started but he stopped and shook his head. It still didn't sound right to him "Nim."

She looked up at him.

"I…" Jaime inwardly groaned. He'd rather be back in the Kingswood fighting those ten members of the Brotherhood than having this conversation. "I won't be… cruel to you. I know you're being forced into a sort of prison. But I won't hurt you."

"You couldn't hurt me." Nim said snidely. "I'd hurt you back. Worse."

"Well, we've already both attempted to kill each other multiple times. I was hoping we wouldn't get any worse than that." Jaime said. He had not doubt, of course, that Nim would kill him if she got to desperate. She might try even before she was desperate.

"Hopefully not," Nim said. "And… maybe… if I'm married to you, I'll get to see my long knives again?"

Jaime almost laughed. "As long as you don't try to kill me with them, I promise you'll see them again."

"I guess that's one consolation," Nim said.

Jaime exhaled. Neither of them were happy about this but at the very least they could find something bearable about the arrangement. Jaime remembered when he first joined the King's Guard. It had happened soon after he found out his father had been planning to wed him to Lysa Arryn, then Lysa Tully of the Riverlands. Marrying Nim was  _certainly_ a better alternative than that. And there were many lords that Nim would have been tempted to kill on their wedding night if forced to marry them. Jaime was not one of those at least—or he didn't think so anyway.

"There's something else," he said. "Your sister, Sansa, is scheduled to be executed. Joffery thought it absolutely necessary that you attend."

"Why?" Nim asked. "What is he expecting to get out of me? I don't want to see a girl executed, but I don't...remember her as my sister. It will be like watching any other execution."

"Joffery said it was to make you see what happens to traitors." Jaime said. "But I really think he wants you to attend on the off chance that it might hurt you. There's nothing Joffery loves more than the misery of others around him."

"I'd love to deny him that misery," Nim stared at her hands. "I should...I should be screaming at the idea of my sister dying. I should be furious. But I can't...remember her. Not even a little. I keep trying and there's nothing there." She swallowed hard. "She deserves someone to mourn her. And I can't. I'm her own sister and I can't."

"That's hardly your fault," Jaime said.

"No. Just the fault of my awful memory," Nim murmured. "I hope that's all of the bad news for the day. I can't take anymore."

"That's all." Jaime inclined his head. "I'll leave you then. I'm sure there's a lot to think about."

Nim nodded once, her eyes far away. "To be honest… I wish I was back in the Kingswood on that day."

"Why? So that I could leave you to die this time?" Jaime raised an eyebrow.

"No." Nim shook her head. "I just want a fight like that again."

"Yes." Jaime sighed. "So do I."

* * *

Nim knew she was a lady in her old life but she highly doubted that she had ever been fond of dresses. These cages in the form of clothing did not suit her one bit in her opinion. But the morning of the execution, Cersei sent in several hand maidens to prepare Nim for the event. Because apparently an execution was an occasion to dress well for.

The dress was a light blue. It cinched too tightly at her waist and the skirt fell all the way to her feet, the train dragging on the ground when she walked. The sleeves—far too long for her taste but bulky enough to conceal knives within should she ever have the need—were embroidered with silver flowers. A lady might have found it beautiful. A nameless thief found it constricting.

There was little they could do with her hair. Nim kept it cropped to her shoulders instead of growing it out like most women. It was more practical in a fight to have short hair and she could disguise herself as a boy if she had to. The women who worked on her were clearly distressed with such hair but Nim was secretly proud she was giving them trouble.

When at last she was deemed ready, two unfamiliar King's Guard came to escort her to the sept of Baelor where the execution would take place. It was a terribly hot day, even though the long summer was supposedly over and winter was  _eventually_ coming. It wasn't coming soon enough clearly. But perhaps it was only her heavy dress that made it so hot.

She was led onto a great stone platform. The king was already there, smiling and waving to an eager throng of onlookers all turned out to see a young woman lose her head. Tywin Lannister stood near him, never taking his eyes of the boy king. He was like the owner of a feral mutt, always keeping a close watch to make sure the creature didn't rip apart something it wasn't supposed to.

Others from the small council were there. Varys and Pycelle and Cersei. Jaime stood nearby Joffery as well but he was too focused on the crowd to notice her. She imagined he'd laugh when he did see her in this. She looked completely unlike herself.

Cersei smiled that tight smile of hers when she saw Nim. "Dressed like a proper lady. It would suit you better if you had longer hair."

"It was not practical for my old life." Nim replied, her voice as tight as Cersei's face.

"Well, well," Joffery turned and looked her up and down. "I hardly recognized you, Arya Stark. You look almost presentable."

"Thank you, your grace." Nim said, curtsying as she imagined all the ways to put a knife through the king's neck. She could only imagine how much more she would loathe him if she had her memory. But even a girl with no past and no context could not help but hate Joffery Baratheon.

Nim tried to draw her attention elsewhere. She scanned the knights and King's Guard in the square, wondering if she had ever stolen from any of them before. She was envious of their swords and the hilts gleaming beautifully in the sun. Her eyes caught on Jaime and this time she found him looking back. His eyebrows shot up in obvious amusement. Nim sighed and shrugged and he smirked in response, shaking his head.

Then the crowd started to roar. It started as a murmur and grew gradually louder as they all turned their eyes to gaze upon the guards who had just emerged. Between them, they held Sansa Stark.

She was dressed in black, like a woman mourning herself. But her face showed no fear as she was led to the platform. Some of the crowd spit at her and tried to strike out but she paid them no glance. Nim admired her courage in the face of the inevitable.

As she stepped onto the stone platform, Sansa's eyes lifted and caught hers. They stared at each other for a long moment and Nim wished with all of her heart that she could remember this woman that stood below her. Her sister. She should know her but everything in her mind was blank. Just a vague, misty sadness hung over her mind in place of memories.

The guards shoved Sansa forward and their eye contact broke. She stood before the roaring crowd and Joffery held up his hand to quiet them. Maester Pycelle stepped forward and began a rambling speech about the treasonous crimes of Sansa Stark. All the while, Nim watched the woman about to die. Her heart beat seemed suddenly more rapid and her breathing more unsteady. She had a sick sense of de ja vu watching this scene.

"Have you any words to say?" Maester Pycelle asked Sansa. "Do you beg for mercy?"

"This king taught me long ago…" Sansa said, icy as the northern winter. "That there is no justice in this place, much less mercy. I will not beg for what does not exist."

"Very well," Pycelle looked to Joffery. "What is to be done with this traitor."

The crowd roared at the word traitor and Nim swayed, a bit dizzy. She felt sick.

"Bring me his head!" Joffery commanded.

' _His head?'_ Nim thought. She blinked. It didn't seem right and yet she'd heard those words before. A lot of sounds came back to her now with the roar of the crowd. The sound of a young woman, a young Sansa Stark, screaming and pleading for the executioner to stop. The slide of a great sword being drawn from its sheath.

" _Look away. Do you hear me boy? Don't look!"_

Nim's eyes locked on the great stature of Baelor. She had stood there before hadn't she? When she watched… when she watched…

" _Bring me his head!"_

" _Let go of me_ _!"_

" _Look away!, boy"_

Nim sank to her knees her eyes glazed. No one noticed her in the midst of the execution. They were too busy watching the rise of the blade, huge and made of valyrian steel.

" _That's my father's sword,"_ she thought.  _"It belonged to him. To my family."_

_Her_  father.  _Her_  family. Words that came so easily to her head now. She watched the blade rise up slowly but instead of her sister, she saw her father beneath the blade, head bowed.

"Stop," she muttered.

The blade fell. Sansa Stark's head rolled from her neck. And a flock of birds took to the sky somewhere above their heads. And a new girl now knelt gasping for breath on the stone platform. Remembering. Remembering everything.

When the blade rose, she was Nim the Nameless.

When the blade fell, she became Arya Stark once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is my second favorite character, so I hate killing her like this, but it obviously was an important moment for Arya! So now, Arya's memories return to her and she once again has a reason to hate. Wonder if a certain list will return to her as well? Perhaps :) Thanks so much for reading. As always, review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!


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